


The Ice in the Woman

by BrookeSutter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe- Mates, Alternate Universe- Witch, Bellarke, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 32,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4147521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrookeSutter/pseuds/BrookeSutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is part of a royal family of vampires. Tradition states that the eligible female in a family must mate with an available male. There's blood in the air, sex in the sheets, and a raging war taking place and all she can think about is 'him'. </p><p>Or the story in which I take some of my best work (Branded, Strangers, Just One Yesterday...) and make something I truly hope my readers enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

-x- Introduction -x-

She can still taste the awful concoction of “alcohol”, manufactured by her favorite nerds, on the tip of her swollen tongue as she navigates through her bathroom. The asshole she was unabashedly making out with last night bit her— _fuck him._ Her light blonde hair is awkwardly curled because she passed out with it dripping wet, which means she’s either going to have to muster up the strength to straighten it, or she’s going to opt for the easier arrangement of throwing it in a messy bun on top of her head. Since she accidentally knocks her purple straightener off the sink with her elbow when she turns around—fate, okay?—she decides her best option is the bun she’s been wearing so much it’s practically _signature_ at this point. There are remnants of dark makeup smeared underneath her electric blue eyes and she wonders if her mother would let her attend the council meeting she’s late for _just_ like this.

It is the funniest joke she’s told partly sober in weeks, next to the one about the entire female population of vampires, in her city at least, that prefer sucking other parts of the body. She’s a vampire, but she’s far from a slut. In fact, she’s been wearing an invisible chastity belt since she entered the world per her family’s strict orders.

Clarke isn’t an alcoholic—she’s gone over the fucking checklist, alright?

 _Do you drink when you are disappointed, under pressure or have had a quarrel with someone?_ The only person she truly ever fights with is her mother, and that’s every day so she really isn’t sure if she should base her drinking habits on _this_ question. She wants to snort about the “under pressure” clause mostly because she’s under a lot of pressure—pressure from her mother, pressure from her father, pressure from her entire species. Her entire life has been nothing but **pressure** since they day she was born. That’s what happens when you’re born into royalty, she supposes.

 _Can you handle more alcohol now than when you first started to drink?_ Clarke started to drink when she was fourteen. In her defense her twin brother, Ayden, was the one who swiped the bottle from their father’s “secret” stash. The question really wasn’t fair because _of course_ seventeen year old Clarke can handle a lot more booze than fourteen year old Clarke. She promptly mumbled a, “Next” when she originally read it off of her iPhone.

 _Have you ever been unable to remember part of the previous evening, even though your friends say you didn’t pass out?_ Her memory is solid, like a diamond. God, she wishes she could black out some of the shit in her life but that’s not the way things work.

 _When drinking with other people, do you try to have a few extra drinks that others won’t know about it?_ Clarke has a high alcohol tolerance—she _has_ to take a few extra shots, a few extra glasses of wine, to get as drunk as everyone else in the room. It’s all part of her biological makeup. Unless she attempts to party with people like her—her sexy, hot, totally-available-to-anyone-but-her friend Church, John Murphy (the asshole she tolerates _sometimes)_ , Raven Reyes (her best friend) or the aforementioned nerds, Jasper Jordan and Monty Green.

 _Do you sometimes feel uncomfortable if alcohol is not available?_ She reminds herself about the meeting she’s late for, how there won’t be any type of alcohol in the room and she’s going to desperately need it after this particular meeting. Anyone would want to drink after a meeting like the one she’ll be walking into once she finds a pair of panties that won’t be highlighted under her mandatory white dress.

 _Do you sometimes feel a little guilty about your drinking?_ Only when Ayden pointedly asks, “Why the fuck did you start without me?”

 _Do you often want to continue drinking after your friends say they’ve had enough?_ Clarke still doesn’t know how to answer this question—she’s still struggling to remember a point in time where her friends have said they’ve had enough. They’ve never had enough because they’re always thirsty—it’s a vampire thing.

 _Do you usually have a reason for the occasions when you drink heavily?_ Every time her mother says, **“Clarke this will be the best day of your life.”,** when they both know it’s not true.

 _Have you tried switching brands or drinks, or following different plans to control your drinking?_ Jasper and Monty switch up the brew biweekly, does that count?

 _Have you sometimes failed to keep promises you made to yourself about controlling or cutting down on your drinking?_ She doesn’t make promises she can’t keep.

 _Have you ever had a DWI (driving while intoxicated) or DUI (driving under the influence of alcohol) violation, or any other legal problem related to your drinking?_ She’s never been caught and even if she had been caught, she would have compelled the officer to forget. It’s one of the many tricks she has up her sleeve considering what she is…

 _Are you having more financial, work, school, and/or family problems as a result of your drinking?_ Her drinking didn’t really increase until this summer and since school’s out…no.

 _Do you eat very little or irregularly during the periods when you are drinking?_ Technically, she doesn’t _have_ to eat. She does it for taste, for appearances.

 _Do you sometimes have the “shakes” in the morning and find that it helps to have a “little” drink, tranquilizer or medication of some kind?_ She’s never experienced something like this before, but she’ll be on the lookout—scouts honor.

Now, she just has to make it to the fucking meeting she’s dreaded all her life.

She’s going to meet her mate.

And Raven Reyes informed her that he’s a fucking dick.


	2. Chapter 1: Captured Courage

Her footsteps are loud, they echo off the iron walls announcing her presence at every swift stumble on her short (also mandatory) heels. The solid white dress that hugs her skin attempts to ride up her thighs. If she could manage a certain amount of shame before 2:30 PM, she would care about not wearing any underwear but she doesn't have _any_ shame because her ass always looked fantastic in this dress. Why break the streak, now? Her fingers ruffle the edges of her dress as she yanks it down because her mother would have a goddamn heart attack if she flashed her in-laws the first day.

The solid metal doors greet her, as well as a man that she's never seen before in her life. _He must be with the wedding party,_ Clarke thinks to herself as she approaches the fairly tall stranger. He's wearing the standard suit that men are required to wear, although it looks odd on him but also dashingly handsome. It's a light gray color, accented with a soft yellow tie but by the time she can see the tie, it's one of the least important details she's ever observed. First, she notices the pigment of his skin and how it deeply contrasts with her ivory tone. She wants to press his body to hers to really see the comparison. The next thing she notices is his dark, wild hair and how he tried to tame the curls but he didn't quite manage it. His widow's peak is subtle, but she _sees_ it. Clarke sees everything about him. There's a dimple she could run her tongue across, could let herself memorize on his chin. His lips, a mixture of a mauve purple comparable to the Mallow flower and a light tan, begged her to kiss them until they were properly swollen.

And his eyes are a mixture of Jack Daniels and Earth.

She's not an alcoholic but she could get addicted to _him._ Instead of drinking whiskey, she could drink from him all the time. That thought process was strictly taboo unless a marriage was involved.

Clarke stands beside him, her fingers balling into a fist because she ached to touch him. She thought it would be rude until he unabashedly bends his head to look at her ass, "I didn't realize we weren't supposed to be wearing underwear." His face breaks out into a wide smirk before he turns those brown eyes on her.

She's quick, despite how she feels about his body, with a response. "New dress code. They sent the memo out five minutes ago when I was running extremely late."

"Ahh..." He chuckles deeply and Clarke thinks that his voice is the most damning thing she's ever heard.

She really hates her parents, her coven, her council right now.

They stare at the two doors together for a moment before she speaks up, "Friends with the lucky groom?"

"Friends with the extremely lucky bride?" He counters, the same smirk on his lips as before.

Clarke looks down at her feet, "Something like that."

The smirk vanishes, "I am the groom."

_Holy shit._

_Bellamy Blake._

"What's she like, the princess?" He asks nervously, meeting her blue eyes with pure curiosity.

It takes her a moment to come up with a decent response, but she makes it seem like she was honestly debating on how to answer him. "Horribly boring, always wears underwear to these sort of events. Gets here fifteen minutes early like she's supposed to do." Clarke nonchalantly shrugs, "Kind of ugly, too, if you want the honest truth."

He snorts, defeated as if his life is ending but he has to maintain a bit of humor. "Perfect."

"Something like that." It's impulsive, but Clarke finds herself pushing up off her tip toes in her annoyingly hideous shoes to press a firm kiss to his lips. She wants to do it before the politics are added into their small world. If everything else goes to shit, at least they'll have this moment.  As she pulls away, she smiles at him--it's a real smile, untarnished by the life she has to live behind these doors. "It's nice to meet you Prince Charming."

He returns her smile, wrapping an arm around her waist as he says, "I'm definitely not a prince, honey." He kisses her back with much of the same firmness as her own. It settles low in her belly, not only because he draws her in like a goddamn curse but because he's _her_ fiancé.

Finally, she finds the courage to open the two doors making sure to make an entrance as usual. Marcus barely looks up from the tablet he holds in his hand, but enough that he notices the two later-comers right off the bat. "Good, you've met each other." Clarke turns on her heels, walking backwards to her designated chair to give him a flirty wink. He only stares at her dumbly in return, as if he's suddenly conflicted by the attraction he obviously felt for her.

She settles next to Raven, who playfully swats at her ass, and Ayden. Without much embarrassment, she finds herself observing his body even when she's supposed to be listening to the terms and conditions of her marriage. As far as she's concerned, and this was put in place long before she met Bellamy, as long as she's feeding, cleaning, and fucking during the course of their marriage, she's fulfilling any and all contracts. Now that she's met him, she thinks she might enjoy at least one of those things more than she originally planned.

It isn't until Kane starts to talk about recent events that don't have to do with Bellamy moving to their blessed city, or his mother--who seems like a cross woman from where she sits--receiving the unconditional assistance of their trained military assassins given she needs them, that she listens to the older man.

Kane is supposed to be her father, has always been her father--hell, she has his last name...but recent events have revealed the truth that she isn't ready to discuss. It's not the time or place to harp on the reason for her downward spiral. She can do that all by herself and not in front of her attractive fiancé. 

The dark cloud that settles over them as Kane recalls the recent amounts of werewolf attacks make her heart skip a beat. "They're getting bolder and partnering with the more extreme witch covens." _Show some type of fucking emotion, dick. People are dying._ "It's becoming difficult to fight off the advances but there haven't been any attacks on our clan." He likes to interchange Coven and Clan but her mother used to only call it a coven. She was stronger, then. She wasn't under the pressure of pleasing "dad" then. "And with the Exodus Charter in place, we cannot counteract without being struck first."

"Bullshit." Clarke mutters under her breath but no one seems to notice.

Kane breathes after he concludes the meeting with a brisk statement on being "adamantly aware" of their surroundings. "Clarke!" Marcus calls to her with a tick in his jaw, "Stay behind." It was an order, something she was used to following ever since they told her she was going to get married.

People start to stand up with his final statement, except for Clarke. But her eyes follow Bellamy Blake out the door. _Look at me, look at me, look at me...._

And he does look at her even if it's incredibly brief.

Kane breathes once she's stranded with him, of course her silent mother is there. Abby barely meets her eyes these days. "You were precisely--" Clarke holds up a hand to cut him off, which he surrenders far too easily. "I do not need this to be ruined by your childish antics. I know you like to be stupid and immature in your lifestyle, but you cannot screw this up. If you screw this up, we will have a problem. Their coven is one of the strongest covens ever since they merged with the Woods Clan," The Woods Clan is a brutal war clan from the slopes of Virginia. Clarke admires some of their culture but she could live without the constant torture stories they bring to her corner of the world. "they've become a necessary part of our sustainable lives."

Her mother says nothing.

"Do not screw this up, Clarke." Marcus levels with her. "Or it'll be the end of your life."

Clarke stands up swiftly, marching out of the ugly council room with a few stomps. Her footfalls don't transition from angry to soft until she sees him, suit jacket off and folded over his arm, hair raked through with his long fingers...he's perfect, so fucking beautiful and perfect.

"You could have told me." He states with a slow turn up of his mouth.

She laughs seductively, "Could have, but it was so fun to watch you get uncomfortably nervous." Clarke takes a step forward, closer to him but not as close as she would like to be.

"Hmmm, was it?" He asks, leaning his shoulder against the iron wall.

"Very." Clarke replies with a nod, taking another step closer.

Her teeth play with her bottom lip when he finally moves towards her. "You seem to know a lot about fun, Princess."

"I know a _few_ things."

"Care to share?"

Clarke places her hand on his shoulder, finally within touching distance. "There's a bar called Dropship, be there at 10:30 _PM_ and I'll let you in on a few little secrets."

"Promise?"

"I don't make promises I can't keep, Mr. Blake."

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Daring Dates Part I

The silent curse lingers between his lips as he prepares for their date, once more changing out of _another_ shirt per his little sister's orders. Octavia Blake was an annoyance that he couldn't live without, couldn't think of ever living without. It seemed impossible to think that she married that asshole grounder six months ago, at seventeen no less, and was no longer  _truly_ a Blake. Her new surname was Parson. Lincoln Parson was the bastard that stole little  _O_ from the extremely comfortable nest that he created for her. He shuts his eyes tightly, opens them and thinks about how Ayden--Clarke's brother--feels about _him._ It's exactly what Bellamy was doing to his sister, although, Bellamy considers it a _bit_ different. It's not like they had a choice when it came to their impending union. They certainly didn't. Lincoln and Octavia, though, they had a choice. Hell, they forced everyone's hand when they got married due to the former tension between both clans.

Currently, Octavia's glaring at him from the corner of his bedroom. He moves around the hotel with speed, accuracy and nervousness. Her "clan" or "coven" or whatever the fuck Marcus Kane decided to call the group of individuals he reigned over, put his family up in the quite _ugly_ hotel suite for the weekend while they prepare a "more permant living arrangement" for the Blakes'.

"Wow, brother, it would appear that you're _nervous._ You wouldn't be nervous, would you?" Octavia ran a file across her nail like a stereotypical gossip. "What exactly happened outside the council room, today?" 

Bellamy looks down at his feet, "We met. She's not who I thought she would be..." He shrugs as if it's nothing, as if she did not blow his world to pieces with her closed-lip kiss mere hours ago. Her golden blonde hair begged to be pulled, oh god she looked like she enjoyed to be rough. Although, he could bet that she's still a virgin considering how royalty works. The men are free to do whatever they want, to tame their urges with multiple women while the royal females have to stay pure until they are married. It's been like that for thousands of years. Even with this in mind, Clarke seems like the wild type.

"And she asked you on a date?"

"Something like that." He cracks a grin at the statement, shakes his head and darts towards his bags. "I have to meet her in thirty minutes, O, just tell me which shirt to wear."

"Don't wear a shirt, you'll really charm her pants off."

Someone clears their throat from behind the siblings. Their mother. "I will ignore your poor conversations and wish you luck for tonight. You have no idea how important this union is to our people, Bellamy. Be careful with her, okay?" He thinks he hears her say, _"The child will go through great--"_   but Octavia's loud, demanding voice interrupts one of his mother's prophecies.

"Wear the black V-neck! It's your best..." She stood up quickly, "Lincoln and I have dinner plans."

"Most restaurants are closed." Aurora Blake comments under her breath, "Do not leave any bodies, Octavia Anne or I swear, I will make you sleep in separate beds on different floors."

_10:30_

The second he sees her leaning over the counter ordering a round of shots from a bartender, that should _definitely_ keep his eyes off her exposed cleavage, his mouth salivates. There's really nothing special about the bar she's asked her to meet him at, except for the fact that she acts like it's her personal home. It's all in her relaxed form, the way she breathes, how at ease her heart seems to be. Her long blonde hair is in a half-up, half-down bun--designed to be messy, but he knows how long those damn things take because of Octavia. He wants to rip the entire thing down, wants to run his fingers through her loose waves. If it wouldn't mean sudden death, he'd stroll over there and do it. But there are other things to be hypnotized by, like the tight black dress that barely covers her milky skin or her impossibly bright smile...the way she's got her head tipped back, laughing at whatever the bartender just said to her and the Latina she's friends with. He thinks her name is Raven. Attractive, but taken apparently. He briefly recalls asking her out.

Not that it really matters anymore.

Because he's taken by Clarke and her wholly innocent, wild gleam.  

_There isn't a dress code, is there? There isn't a dress code, is there? There isn't a dress code, is there?_

He practices the line a hundred times before he sneaks up behind her, "There isn't a dress code, is there?" He lets his hand rest on the small of her back, passion flaring inside him the second they made contact. Bellamy gives the bartender a "helpful" glare in the process of resting his elbow on the bar top to level with her. Raven makes a sound in the back of her throat before taking the-- _oh, man--_ tequila shots back to a table, it was a little ways from the ruckus of the bar.  In Raven's absence, Clarke becomes extremely brave. Clarke turns around, grabbing his wrist in a way that his hand stays on her back, well, until she starts pulling it down the swell of her ass. He doesn't feel any sign of a panty line so he assumes he has her answer. No dress code. "Fuck." He mumbles under his breath, "You're killing me, Princess."

"I promised, remember?" She leans closer to him, her mouth near his neck for a second. "Now, I want you to meet the nerds...and then, I want to get out of here."

"I thought--"

"You thought _wrong._ "

He quickly removes his hand from the warmth of her skin, "Lead the way."

It isn't as far as he originally suspected, but it's still away from the crowd of cheap college students. Clarke smiles reassuringly at him before she starts introducing people, "Okay, you know Raven already. She's my best friend and the mechanical genius that the coven uses." She gestures towards her friend that offers a small wave in return, "Next to her is Wick. He's Raven's man." Clarke continues down the line, "Then, we've got Monty." The Asian kid offers a shy, but warm grin whereas the dork next to him starts waving enthusiastically. Bellamy correctly assumes they are _the nerds_. "Jasper." Clarke gives Bellamy a look. "They are best friends, and my nerds." Then, Clarke frowns. "Last and certainly least, we have Murphy."

Bellamy raises an eyebrow.

Clarke continues, "And this is Bellamy, guys."

"Oh." Jasper says loudly, " _Ohhhh."_

"So, now, we're leaving."

Monty asks, "What? Why?"

"Because you guys like to interview. I want to conduct my own."

He's never been so scared in his life.

_11:30_

It took her a lot longer than originally expected to leave the bar, but once they were outside in the night air she felt buzzed. "Did you drive, Prince Bellamy?" Clarke asked as she swallowed her desperate words. Bellamy chuckles under his breath at her question, but shakes his head _no_ in the process. Her blue eyes are dilated, blown wide with attraction and want. She's never wanted another the way she wants him. The way she definitely wants him right now. "Good, because I want to take you for a ride."

He smirks, "Do you, now?"

"Oh, yeah..." Clarke throws her head back as she spins around the parking lot in front of him. "So, please join me in my Porsche?"

"It'd be my pleasure." He pauses, "Where are you taking me, Princess?"

"Somewhere worth being." They stop in front of a Porsche 911 Carrera 4 Cabriolet custom made. It's her baby, it's her get away. It's solid black to blend in with the night, but the drop top sort of ruins her stealthiest night drives. "Now, get in before I change my mind."

_11:55_

The car screeches to a halt in front of an apartment complex. It's luxury and definitely not where he thought she was taking him. "I want to get to know you. What better place to do it than our future apartment?"

"Odd situation, isn't it?" He asks as he takes a peek at the light polluted sky. He's been places where the edges of the galaxy are visible. Then, he's been to places where one never sees a star let alone the moon. There was something comforting, something open about the stars that always let him breathe comfortably.

It wouldn't matter if he was in space right now, surrounded by stars. His breathing would still be interrupted by her. 

"How can it be odd if you've waited your whole life to put a name to the person you're inevitably going to have to marry? I was engaged to _someone_ the moment I was born. The fact that I happen to find you attractive is a plus, I guess." Bellamy nods along to her words in silence. "Last year, I thought my mother was going to force me to marry the Ice Nation--nation, what a fucking joke, right?--Prince. Then, your sister married Lincoln Parson and plans started to be drawn."

"The Ice Nation and the Woods Clan don't get along very well because of--"

"Costia, I know." Clarke looks down at her feet. "I didn't really know her, but I do know Lexa. She came to introduce herself as the new leader of the clan. Told me her story. Told me to never fall in love. It's weakness. Then, she kissed me." Clarke shrugged, "I don't know where I stand when it comes to alliances anymore."

"Why do you say that?"

"Too deep. Let's start easy, okay? Did you go through the human-experience phase or is that just a _here_ thing?" Clarke snorts because she definitely went through the human phase. She nearly starved herself into a deep slumber because it was "morally wrong" to feed on people. She also went to high school for three years during the phase. Maybe she never really broke it because she definitely still hangs out with those people because they're at the drop ship all the time.

"I did my fair share of human partying but I never went as far as drinking from animals. Let me guess, you tried Thumper, the edible bunny?"

Clarke smiles shyly, "There may have been a boy involved."

"Oh, god you were one of those girls. Did he read Twilight one too many times or--"

"Nope, he was a hippy vampire. Raven's ex-boyfriend, too. He dated us at the same time...and we found out, dumped him. Now, we're not only drinking buddies but we are best friends. Anyway, _Finn_ thought we were monsters if we did what naturally came to us. Feed on humans. Feed on each other." He peers over at her when she naturally says it. It's something he could see them doing in the future. Something he wants them to do in the in the future. "He thought it was immoral and I was stupidly in like with him."

"What's it like having a twin brother?"

Clarke shrugs, "I've never had a secret worth keeping from him. As children, things were a lot different. Before my mother was Queen of the Damned. Before Marcus was the leader. It was different in ways that I wish never changed. Ayden has become this person so different from who I am, but so similar. I guess having a twin is like loving someone and loving yourself in one person...if that makes sense."

"I have Octavia...and everyday, I find a reason to love her more." Bellamy shrugs, "I get the pull of sibling love."

Clarke unlocks the front door with a set of keys from her bra, walking ahead of him to the elevator. "It's a nice apartment, sort of empty right now though but the coven had good intentions, I suppose."

"Why haven't I heard anything about it?"

"Outsider." Clarke juts out her bottom lip, "The Coven has problems with trust. Or that might just be Kane." They enter the empty elevator and Clarke hits the top floor button. "Did I mention it was furnished?"

"Hmmm."

"New memory foam mattress."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I came by earlier to check it out before I brought you here. There are a few surprises in store."

 

 

 


	4. Darting Dates Part II

Her fingers play with the single key the council bestowed on her three months ago with tight-lips. Her mother's words rang in her head the entire time she picked out furniture, picked out the paint for every room in the apartment.  _"This will be your home until we change locations. Be responsible."_ At this point, she hasn't been able to muster up enough responsibility to be anything but _turned on_  with Bellamy Blake. The whole, "Treat me like a Princess, fuck me like a whore..." mantra played in her head every time she looked at him.

She's entirely ready to try out their new mattress even if her mother would have a goddamn heart attack. Clarke's supposed to be a white bride until her wedding night, no sooner than that. Bellamy's eyes are scanning the empty hallway, looking at the tan walls of the space. It's supposed to look warm and open.

The kitchen is uncomfortably large, especially since she can't cook to save her life. Clarke's sort of banking that _Bellamy_ knows how to make a meal or something. Of course, she just eats for taste but she genuinely likes _food._ The countertops are cold, she knows this because she stood on them with her bare feet to paint above the oak cabinets. The flat-top stove is brand new, still has the manufacturer's plastic over the front of it. Every storage area is empty, there aren't any bowls or knives or even a tooth-pick.

But the walls are a light green color that complement the grayish marble countertops.

She leads him into the room because she placed something in the refrigerator hours ago when she was planning this "fun" night. "Just so you know, I'm not really the wifely type." Clarke points to the stove, "I can't cook."

Bellamy smirks, "I didn't really peg you as the homemaking type, anyway." Clarke returns his smile with a slight lean of her head before opening the door and purposely bending over long enough for him to get a nice view of her round bottom. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, mutters something like, "S _till killing me."_ She brings out two bottles--one Jack Daniels because of his eyes, and a two liter of coke. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Princess?"

"I'm just trying to have some fun." Clarke pokes out her bottom lip, forcing herself to sound innocent. "You still want to have fun, right?"

"Y-yeah, I want to have fun." He breathes, "With you."

Clarke smiles, "Good. C'mon, there are other rooms." She pauses, "The council was very generous with the amount of rooms they've given us. They want us to be comfortable...they want us to reproduce an heir to solidify the marriage." Her grip tightens on the nose of Jack Daniels because children? Now? It's a fucking bad joke. Yet, it's exactly what the council wants.

A few unsteady breaths later, Bellamy's speaking again. "When do they want us to..." His eyes are on her, so intense. Clarke felt the warm blush touching her cheeks. The touchy subject of children always made her uncomfortable. Her mother was easing into the subject slowly but Clarke wasn't ready to listen.

But with Bellamy, she could share her distaste for it. Not so much having children, but having them at the command of another. She wants to have a child because her heart is ready for it, not because her people are.

"Conceive?" Clarke offers, letting the emphasis of the word hang in the air.

 "Yeah." It's just a breath. His response is just a breath.

"I don't know." Clarke's entirely unsure of their deadline, but she knows they expect efficiency. "Maybe directly after the wedding. Maybe during, do you perform well under pressure?"

He chuckles, "Do you always use humor in awkward situations?"

"Yes." Clarke finally meets his eyes.

"You're honest." Bellamy's moving closer to her, backing her up against the wall of the living room. He hasn't even looked at it, not really. He doesn't notice the cream colored furniture or the accent tables. He doesn't see the lack of throw pillows, the way the T.V. isn't even plugged in. He just looks at her body lining up against light lilac wall. He can't help the way his lips move upwards in a cheeky half-smile.

"I have no reason to lie." Her words are soft, he's not even sure a human would hear them. He wants to kiss her, but he's practicing self-control.

 He has to think of a thousand different things to keep his dick from stirring in his jeans, "Mmm, so the rest of the apartment?" The question comes out with a heavy struggle. He wants nothing more than to take her right now. The hesitation in her eyes tells her everything he needs to know.

She quickly agrees,"The rest of the apartment."  It only takes her a moment to regain herself. Her blue eyes still hold their searing heat as she lightly pushes at his shoulder. He follows her motions, stepping backwards. "So, we have the spare bedrooms. They're a decent size. I haven't painted them yet...because..." Because if she leaves them a solid white color, she won't have to face it.

"Wait, you painted this place?" Bellamy motions around in a circle as she leads him down another hallway. 

"Uh, yeah...I like to paint." Lately, her paintings have been darker than usual. In light of the disaster called her life. "I think we should hold on the master bedroom, don't you?

He mumbles, "Best for last, huh?"

To which she grins, "Something like that."

After a few minutes of absently circling around the apartment, talking about his furniture and how they were going to corporate each other's things into the large amount of space they had, she finally lifted the bottle to indicate the tour was over. "What do you have in mind, hmm?"

"Do you like to swim?"

"Did I miss something when you showed me that impossibly large bath tub?"

Clarke shakes her head, "No sir, but you did miss the door." She points her pinky up towards what would appear to be an attic door. "How about you use those strong arms to lower the stairs and let me show you the _real_ reason you're here."

The stairs fall down with a swift tug, "If you're trying to hint that we have a pool...I didn't bring a suit."

"Oh, neither did I."  She winks at him as she starts to climb them, hoping he's watching the sway of her hips. "So..."

"So this was a trick to get me drunk and naked..."

"Mmm, guess so." 

They make it to the top of the apartment building, met by the shimmering blue water of their in-ground pool.  Clarke sets down the bottles on the patio table, pulling the black dress over her head. A few of the seams made a stretching sound but she was barely concerned with that fact. The dress had to go.

It took her a long time to decide whether or not she wanted to be _extremely_ sexy or not. She went with being over the top sexy. She ditched the panties before the night even started. Now, she stood before him in a simple, satin black bra.

His eyes consume her. He drinks in her thighs, the way she crosses her legs instinctively.  "You sure you want to do this?" Bellamy asks because this is a big deal. It's one of the biggest deals he's ever had to deal with. If he fucks this up, if he fucks up the engagement...god, he doesn't even want to know.

"What? Afraid you'll drown?" Clarke takes a step towards the stairs of the pool. Her arm on the railing as she moves backwards. "I'm sure." She whispers and then repeats it, "I'm sure." He takes off his V-neck, throws it near the table. "Grab the--"

"I got it." He shoots her a grin, unbuttoning his pants to pull them down his legs. The pool is remotely cold but she's starting to get warm. He's wearing boxer briefs, tight around his length. Clarke has a fairly good idea that he's a lot bigger than she originally thought. He turns around to grab the liquor, allowing Clarke to watch how his muscles flex.

He steps in the water, hisses at the temperature. "C'mere, Princess." Her heart stops completely when he gives her that smoldering stare. She floats towards him, using her arms to move. Bellamy puts down the bottle against the tile outline of the pool. He quickly captures her, pressing himself against her. His hand moves over her ass, squeezes it to hear her squeak. "We could wait, you know? Just because you drive me crazy, doesn't mean we have to--"

"Oh, I know...but our wedding night isn't about _us._ It's about our people...and every night after that is about a duty to them. Tonight is supposed to be fun. No rules, no treaties, no council telling us what to do. Just you and me exploring our future home, maybe each other."

"You make marriage sound so political. You don't think it'll have it's moments?"

He thinks he could fall in love with her.

"I've learned not to expect much from future leaders...things get too complicated, too disappointing when we make promises we can't keep." Clarke puts a hand on his bicep, "I like you, I really do, but it's going to get..."

"Complex."

"Glad to know you're not only fun, but practical." Bellamy starts backing her into deeper water. "We'll just see how it goes..."

"Take it day by day."

"One step at a time."

"Inch by inch?" Clarke offers with a wicked grin. Bellamy leans down, taking her lips as he reached the other end of the pool. She's small so he wraps her leg around him. Clarke moans with contact when she touches the fabric of his briefs.

"I'm going to kiss you now." He slants his mouth against hers, pulls on her hair that's starting to fall from it's bun. He hurriedly shifts her body so she's against the pool wall. Her mouth falls open with a hard moan when he grinds into her. She takes the initiative to wrap her other leg around him. Her lips part, eagerly massaging his tongue with hers.

His hands are heavy on her hips.

"Ready to see the master bedroom?" Clarke asks through heavy lashes. "Because I am."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is seriously cursed. I've lost two chapters that I've had to rewrite. My laptop died before I saved my original outline. (Thank god for autosave). 
> 
> This happened to be one of the chapters I lost.


	5. Memory Foam

It was instantaneous the way she desperately wanted him, but it was also nerve rackingly difficult to shake. Before she decided to make this one of the best nights of her quickly deteriorating youth, she entertained every single doubt possible. It came down to this most cliché questions; _will he still want me in the morning? What if I completely suck at this sex thing?_ Clarke decided that was doubtful seeing as she was a perfectionist by default. If she wasn’t _good_ the first time, she would just try-try-try again. Who better to try with than the most alluring man she’d ever met?

She was two minutes from walking out the bar when he arrived wearing a thin V-neck shirt that had her heart hammering in her chest. It was a solid _thumpthumpthumpthump_ the entire time she entertained the flirty bartender—all for him, only for him. She can’t remember a time when she felt so _alive_ and so _lightheaded._ Not even with her long-running crush on Church. He kept slipping out of existence in her mind, over and over again as if she hadn’t been pining for him for the last ten years.

Clarke’s aware that she’s moving impossibly fast but she can’t convince herself to move slower. It’s pure want; it’s wild like her heartbeat and it’s shockingly tamed with small gestures—tamed in a way that she only wants to go this fast with him. No other person has ever captured her so quickly. She doesn’t want another person to capture her the way Bellamy does.

They finally make it to the room after she insists on pulling her dress back on with a wicked smirk. Clarke lets out a high, slow seductive laugh as she leans against the closed door. She isn’t ready to reveal her masterpiece. Her eyes flittered to his lips and then back to his eyes—those intoxicating whiskey-earth eyes. He brings his rough hands to her side and she wonders what type of work he does that produces callouses. She makes a mental note to ask him later.

Bellamy stares down at her, the curve of his lips making her feel drugged out of her mind. She moves up on her tip toes to press a kiss to his lips. He slams her against the door, _hard._ Her head nearly bounces off the wood with contact when he grabs her by her thighs, hoisting her up around his waist. Clarke fumbles for the door knob, twisting it until she hears the faint noise of the door opening. He stumbles through with her tightly wrapped in his arms. She’s suddenly aware that she isn’t wearing any underwear and Bellamy is pressing against her core.

It gives her a sweet satisfaction that she can get him going without doing terribly much.

The master bedroom is her favorite room in the entire apartment. It’s not even about potential, which is why she loves every other room. This room is the only room she’s added a painting in. It’s an original by her of New Orleans. It’s all vivid yellows, reds, purples and blues to show the magic of witches that surrounded her. Underneath the textured colors lays the typical enchanting sky. Her short vacation last summer left her truly amazed—stunned, even. It was the happiest she’s ever been. Before she met Bellamy, the only thing she wanted was a little bit of happiness in the room. Now it was becoming an important accent.

It still rocked her deep in her chest, being engaged to someone like Bellamy Blake at seventeen. Clarke would be married by the time she was eighteen. Her fiancé is clearly all man—from his body, to his attitude. The only thing that’s helped her since meeting him mere hours ago is a gut feeling that he’s a good person deep down. She doesn’t _know_ every fact about him, but she can tell when a person is good hearted and when a person is deceiving her.

There are other parts of the room that she’s truly obsessed with like the flat screen television above the mantel of the fireplace, the DVD player that she hooked up for the morning when she wants to lay in bed—alone or with him, it doesn’t really matter. There’s a comfortable chaise angled near the bed with a navy sweater-knit throw “casually” covering it. Clarke also enjoys the balcony looking over the city. Not the city she wants to be in, but a nice view all the same. How can anyone ever compare Chicago to New Orleans?

Bellamy sucks on her bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth before his tongue starts massaging hers. His fingers dig into thighs as he pushes her dress up higher. Bellamy didn’t put his clothes back on when they climbed out of the pool. His dripping briefs were like a second skin on his body and she was far too willing to roll them down his legs. Her fingers worked quickly, the elastic band popping as she tugged. Clarke was partially unsuccessful in her attempts but Bellamy murmurs, “Wrap your legs around my back. Tight.” as he sweeps back her hair behind her ear. She nods her head, does as she’s told and waits for him to push down his briefs. He’s quicker than she would have expected, taking two steps closer to the bed to step out of them. “Careful, we want this to last don’t we?” He chuckles when she hugs herself closer to him.

He drops his head to her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. “ _I just want you”_ lingers in her mouth but she doesn’t say it. Instead, she moans when he starts to suck on the sensitive part of her neck.

“Do you like this?” Bellamy asks when she moans again, “Mm, good?” Clarke moves her hand to the back of his head, holding it in place on her neck. He chuckles deeply into her skin and finally lays her against the bed. The solid white duvet she bought feels greats against the back of her legs. Clarke keeps one of her legs wrapped around his hip.

“Please.” Her head falls back against the mattress when she says it. Slowly, his hand creeps to her inner-thigh. His hands hike up her dress until it’s around her waist and she’s exposed to him. The hot blush touches her face, heats her all the way to the top of her breasts. His mouth finds the outline of her blush as he places opened-mouth kisses on her skin. Somewhere between getting lost in his kisses, her hands are being held down against the bed and he’s dipping lower over the top of her dress and the smoothness of her stomach. His tongue finds her navel, nipping at her skin with a laugh before sinking lower.

Her eyes fly open even though she wasn’t even aware that she’d closed them.

Clarke breathes raggedly when he kisses her pelvic bone. He releases one of her hands, the size of his body becoming apparent in their current position. His finger runs across the seam of her pussy before he finds her clit with his thumb. Her body jerks with contact, prompting him to kiss her pelvic bone comfortingly. “I’ve got you.” He whispers into her skin before he returns to rubbing her. Clarke doesn’t know if it’s the erotic hormonal response to being touched _there_ or if it’s the person touching herthat has her reacting so eagerly. She hears herself whimper when he slowly guides one of his fingers into her opening. It’s a new sensation that causes her muscles to clench without much thought. She’s not uncomfortable with him but she’s still nervous. “I’ve got you.” He repeats as he’s pushing his finger in and out of her. He adds another finger—she’s amazed by his hands, so fucking amazed.

“ _Bellamy_ …” Clarke whisper-moans, intertwining their fingers as her body arches off the bed. Her body is coiling up—she can feel it in the pit of her stomach. There’s only him and her. In their bed. In their apartment. It’s suddenly very real that she’s having sex with her fiancé. Clarke runs her free hand through his hair while he places lazy kisses on her stomach. “More. I want more.”

“Please tell me you brought condoms.” He says, “Because I’m a fucking idiot.” Clarke removes her free hand from his hair and slaps the nightstand before she opens it. Bellamy leans up on his elbows and looks into the full drawer with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, Princess you are becoming more and more interesting by the minute.” He rifles through the drawer filled with a little more than fifty foil wrappers with a laugh hanging in the air. He rolls off of her to put it on giving her enough time to remove the dress and her satin bra. She tosses it on the wood floor with a loud _clack._ Clarke turns to him with an even deeper blush than before, letting her hand run down his chest as he breathes heavily. He blinks before he places his body over hers once more. “You sure you want to do this tonight?”

“Am I sure?” Clarke pointedly looks down at him with a smile on her lips.

He chuckles, “You’re something else.”

Bellamy is slow, careful, easy with her as he opens her legs wide enough for him to settle between them. The whole time, he looks at her to evaluate what she wants…if she wants him to stop. She doesn’t. He positions himself. She can tell he’s about to say something but she narrows her eyes to warn him against another _we don’t have to do this._

At first, her pussy rejects his thick cock triggering a small cry from her but he pushes on with a gentleness she can’t compare to anything. Her eyes search his as he halts in his movements. She’s adjusting to how he’s stretching her, adjusting to the way he makes her feel filled. “Fuck. _Fuck, Princess._ ” Bellamy hisses into her neck as his arms start to shake from the instinct to thrust. “You feel so damn perfect.”

“I…please, you can…” Her words are broken as she tries to move past her irrational thoughts of staying like this forever. Bellamy pulls out, his face falling to her neck once more as he groans into her skin. _I’m not a virgin anymore,_ Clarke thinks. There isn’t an ounce of guilt surrounding the situation. She doesn’t think about how her mother would disapprove or how Kane would look down on her choices. She just thinks of how this is one of the moments she’ll always remember. How she’s still having fun.

Bellamy shifts his pace, hiking her leg high on his back. He grunts when she starts whispering his name, groans when she tugs on his hair so he’ll meet her mouth. His lips are hot, open to hers as he sloppily slants his mouth against hers. His forehead rests against hers as he continues to thrust at his set pace, his breath hot against her face. “Pull my hair.” She tells him in a breathy sigh, “Please.” She can’t remember him moving so fast but within seconds his fingers are tangling in her loose hair, tugging at it with vigor. She moans hard, her body arching with it. She wants to come. She needs to come.

He seems to sense it in the way she moves with him.

His thumb returns back to her clit, circling her with a brand new speed that she _needs._ “Come on, baby…” He bites at her ear, kisses at the edge of her mouth with that same gentleness she admires. Bellamy moves down to her erect nipples, taking one in her mouth with a hard suck.

“Oh my god.” Her toes curl and her fingers once more lock into his hair. “Fuck, Bellamy.” Her entire body is stimulated to the point of combustion but she’s not quite there. She needs something else, something he’s not giving her—something she’s scared to ask for. Until she’s on the tip, going out of her mind as he pushes deeper, unintelligible words flying from both of their mouths. “Bite me, god, please bite me.”

He kisses her neck, sucks at the same spot he’s been entertaining all night. “Are you sure you want to do this? It surpasses sex, Clarke.”

“I’m sure.” She tells him, wanting the connection—wanting him fully. He pulls her head to the side with a tug of her hair before his canines are pressed into her neck. He removes his fingers from her clit, placing a hand on her hip as if he’s trying to anchor himself. His teeth sink into her neck, his mouth warm on her as her blood runs into his mouth. He grabs their headboard for support, the sounds of it slamming against the wall causing her eyes to roll back in her head. She feels lightheaded, but it’s the type of lightheaded alcohol makes her. Her hand cups the back of his neck, holding him there in the process.

There are a thousand different ways to explain the explosion that takes place within her. She can’t think of a single one. Her eyes are shut tightly when she feels his wet lips against hers. She can taste her own blood when she parts her lips for him. She can feel the way his body tenses when she moves her mouth to his neck, the way he groans when she scrapes her teeth against his salty skin. “Mmm, please baby…make me come.” Clarke can’t hold back anymore when she finally bites him. She’s careful because she doesn’t want to hurt him. He’s the first person to ever bite her, unless Ayden’s “biting” phase as a child counts. It’s one of the best feelings she’s ever had in her life. She’s all too happy to bite him.

His blood tastes like his skin; salty and sweet.

Bellamy’s body is tight as he releases. His eyes shutting tightly as he collapses over her. Clarke rubs his back subconsciously as he comes down. He breathes roughly into her shoulder as he goes back to kissing her skin. She can feel the bite mark healing on her neck, but she’s fully entranced by the bruising on his neck. Her small teeth are imprinted on his skin, fading with every passing second. Her finger runs down the mark, causing him to hiss. “I’m sorry.” She tells him, bringing her finger to her mouth. She sucks the blood from it.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m great. I promise…that was far better than I originally expected it to be.”

He breathes, “Well…that’s a relief.” Bellamy rolls off the bed, looking back over his shoulder as he heads towards the master bathroom. He’s observant for someone who has never been in the apartment. Clarke rolls over to her stomach on the other side of the bed, waiting for him to return. He gets rid of the condom from what she can tell and eventually walks back into the room with a grin on his face. “You got me good, Princess…real good.” He points to the teeth marks on his neck before he presses his knees into the mattress. He leans down, moves her hair away from the mark he wants to see. “Did I go too deep?”

“No, you were perfect.” Clarke assures him, “Thank god for our extra special healing…because my mother would have a fucking heart attack.”

“You could always tell her we eloped.” Bellamy snorts as he settles next to her, pulling back the duvet after reaching up to turn off the light. Clarke follows suit, burrowing herself in between the best cotton sheets she’s ever felt on her naked skin. “I love the apartment, Clarke.”

“Mmmm.”

“Tired?” He asks sincerely.

She nods her head, reaching for a pillow. “Yeah, just a little bit.”

“Want me to go home?”

“This is your home, idiot.” Clarke smiles into the pillow when he clears his throat. “I brought DVDs if you’re not tired…” He moves to his side, huddling closer to her until she’s wrapped in his arms. Clarke rests her cheek against his stomach as he traces the pinkish marks on her neck.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” He kisses her hair. “Sleep tight, Clarke.”

 

 


	6. Bath Water

 

Clarke tip toes across the tile floor of the master bedroom, her body bared to the chill in the apartment. She reminds herself how nice it felt under the duvet with Bellamy, how nice Bellamy felt next to her in general. Even at seventeen, even in such a sensitive state of mind, she knows that Bellamy Blake isn’t hers because they had sex _one time._ The only title they share is based off of political gain. It’s not something she can forget, not even when he was devouring her blood in the most erotic way.

Her wrist twists slowly as she turns on the hot water in an attempt to wash the sex off of her skin before she sits down for brunch with her brother. It’s not that she doesn’t want him to know, she definitely would share this type of thing with him. Clarke rarely keeps secrets from Ayden. Of course, that doesn’t mean much considering the major secret she’s been keeping from him for the past few months about Marcus Kane. She just wants to tell him without him guessing it first.

She pours in vanilla scented soap until she’s satisfied with the light, white accumulation of bubbles. Clarke sinks down into the steaming water, a broken sigh falling from her as she rests her head against the end of the bathtub. It’s ceramic, comforting and makes her feel like royalty. Her thoughts are torn between the recent developments in boundary lines, the alliance between the witches and the wolves and her very naked fiancé.

But most of all, she thinks about all the secrets she’s keeping in her heart. The words she’s left unspoken.

Before summer touched her skin, she considered herself completely satisfied with her life except for the disappointing engagement announcement. Clarke never thought she would be engaged at seventeen or that her mother would allow her “father” to use her as a political pawn in an unwinnable game between species. She was reaching the end of her junior year of high school with her small group of intellectually thirsty friends (including the nerds). There weren’t any severe attack warnings with the werewolves.

Everything was okay until Ayden fucked around with an old-age witch named Cloe Tanner. She strapped him to a table, god the S&M digs were ridiculous after this encounter, and attempted to drain him of his blood. The psychopath loaded him up with herbs so he wouldn’t heal. Clarke and Ayden aren’t a blood match, some type of anomaly in Clarke’s blood that she’s too lazy to listen to because it’s not life threatening and won’t affect her future children. Neither is Abby. The only logical option was Kane…and as her brother laid on his deathbed, she found that he wasn’t a match either after Jackson—her mother’s medical assistant—let it slip by accident thinking she was an idiot kid.

It was impossible for Kane to _not_ be a match if they were biologically related.

After that fact was dropped on her, a lot of other things started making sense to her. His distance. How they looked nothing like him. The way he could threaten their lives without a blink of his eye.

Everything made sense, and nothing made sense at the same time.

It’s been a straight down spiral since Ayden recovered, thankfully on his own after her mother had a last-minute idea to flush his system completely in hopes that he would recover. It was around that time that Ayden and Clarke got their own apartment near the council meeting hall and their childhood home.

She doesn’t know how to tell her brother that his stern role-model isn’t actually their father. Don’t mistaken Ayden’s distaste for Kane, he absolutely loves his father. He doesn’t agree with everything that he does, he doesn’t agree with this marriage, but he does respect Marcus more than anything else in the world.

Clarke can only hate the man that is singlehandedly stripping her of any freedom she ever hoped to hold. Honestly, she doesn’t even know where to start when it comes to all the reasons she’s found to hate a man that raised her to be cold, objective, and aware. She doesn’t know how to deal with feeling so lost in the world—she was so sure that she was Clarke Elizabeth Kane, Vampire Princess of Chicago (and surrounding regions).

And now she doesn’t even know if she’s supposed to be part of the royal bloodline at all.

She considers dipping her head under water when she hears the bathroom door opening and sees a vision before her. Clarke’s not sure if she’s ever been so lustful in her life. For years, she’s been silently crushing on Church—watching Church grow from an attractive boy, to an even better looking man. It made sense to fall in love with him due to their friendship, their past. It’s supposed to be logical.

But one look and she’s falling into bed with a stranger. How the hell is that logical? “Good morning, Princess.” He smirks as she turns her head to fully look at him. “Sleep well?” The corner of her mouth rises as she slides down the wall of the tub to cover her body all the way to her chin. In the process, she moves one of her legs until her foot is near her knee.

The urge to seduce him is strong within her.

“Join me?” Clarke lets her finger trail across her bottom lip, “I can’t say that I don’t bite.”

“You’re going to kill me.” He says more to himself than her as he walks over to the bathtub and climbs in. She has to position herself to accept him into her safe haven. It’s a decent sized bathtub but it’s still made to fit one person comfortably and two people tightly. Clarke presses her chest against his as she settles on top of him. The ends of her hair are soaking wet and pressing against the dry skin of his neck. His hand rubs her back, “The water’s a little hot.”

“Mmm sorry, I don’t like cold water.” Clarke smiles into his neck, her lips brushing over his skin. His breath catches in his throat. “I…you know I wouldn’t bite you without your permission, right?” She comments when he shifts underneath of her. “No need to be uncomfortable.”

“That’s not why I’m uncomfortable, Princess…I’m just suddenly aware of how naked you are. “ He kisses her hair, “What time do we have to return to reality?”

“I eat brunch with my brother every morning at 11:30…I have to get back to my apartment and change into something comfortable while Ayden cooks breakfast. I don’t know how to cook.” Clarke says quietly, “So, in an hour…maybe.”

He’s playing with her hair, “When will I see you again?”

“Whenever you see me again…” Clarke responds coyly, “I think we should keep this fun, you know? No pressure to actually act like we’re engaged…we don’t have to hangout, we don’t have to do anything, really.”

“Still insisting that we keep the politics out of this.”

“Something like that."

 


	7. Baked Brunches

The blonde entertained his thoughts from the moment he woke up in _their_ bed, to the moment he settled back into his temporary “bed” at the hotel. He’s always been the one to suggest “keeping it fun” rather that diving into anything serious. It’s difficult to understand how she seemed to flip the script on his entire life, it’s even harder to explain. When she wants to kiss him, she kisses him and he sees metaphorical stars. When she wants to lead him towards paths he’s never been down—sharing their blood—he walks down them without a care for his own safety. She’s like _“Livin La Vida Loca”_ by Ricky Martin and it’s completely unfair to him and the entire male population.

Octavia Blake doesn’t give him much time to gather his thoughts let alone recover before she’s busting through the joint door with a grin on her face. “You were out all night.” She states the obvious first. It’s her favorite information-prying activity. “What were you doing with our—or your—favorite blonde all night _long?_ ” Her eyebrow is arched as she asks the question even though she has a good idea why he was gone all night long.

“She showed me our apartment. Pretty impressive real estate agent, actually. I would have definitely bought the place if it wasn’t ours.”

“Already using pronouns, brother…I’m proud that you’ve already overcome your raging commitment issues with the span of 24 hours.” Octavia sighs heavily then snorts, _“Ours.”_ It only takes her a minute or two to recover from shock. “So, is the place unusually large or is there more to the story?”

Bellamy looks at her out of the corner of his eye, “You already know that we stayed the night together, what else do you need to know?”

“I want to know how screwed you are when it comes to the Princess of the Damned.” Octavia shrugs and sits in the chair close to his bed. “You stayed all night with her, most of the morning, and you look like someone just slapped you in the face. What happened?”

“I just had one of the best nights of my life with a girl a barely know—and she is a girl, I’m pretty sure she’s only seventeen…and when I woke up, I thought there would be the typical conversation of ‘ _What are we? Where do we go from here?’_ but she just…she wants to have fun, she wants _us_ to be separate from the _us_ we have to be for our families, for our people and I am amazed that she knows what she wants all the time. I am absolutely crazy for the way she plans things in an instant…the way she is so sure of everything.” Bellamy does that annoying, fake nonchalant shrug. “She wants to keep it casual. When we see each other, we see each other…it’s like we’re dating rather than already engaged. I’m on the side where I want her to be _mine_ and she’s playing it…”

“Like you would.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what are you going to do? Because I have some advice…” Octavia crosses her legs and leans forward, “You need to send home your harem of sluts, first off. I know you disguise them as your friends and all that but they’re mostly around for you to screw. Secondly, fly Miller out. He’s your better half.”

Bellamy mock laughs, “Yeah, Miller, the guy that once shaved his head because of our good friend Jose Cuervo. That asshole is my better half.”

“You and I both know that he is…” Octavia giggles, “I’m serious about the girls, Bellamy. If you don’t man up, I will do it for you and you know I’ll hurt feelings and break hearts.”

-x-

Ayden is already cooking breakfast when she walks into the small apartment. Their apartment is more retro chic—all her doing—than the classic look her and Bellamy’s place has to it. This place symbolizes her youth whereas her apartment with Bellamy displays her adulthood. She loves both places but right now, she finds shelter with her enamel electric blue dial phone and her yellow cabinets. It looks like she merged the late 70s with her own tastes, it looks like home.

There’s a table on her balcony overlooking the city, that’s where she joins him after she changes out of the black dress she was tired of wearing. In typical fashion, Clarke steps out of her bedroom wearing her boa feathered, white sheer robe along with pastel blue sleep shorts and a white tank-top. She plans on spending the entire day in bed after her customary mimosas and slightly burnt bacon routine.

“You look very…movie star-like this morning.” He presses the play button on their mini-Bluetooth speaker to get some type of background noise as he thumbs through the paper. It’s like a tea-party with champagne every morning. It’s how they live the high life. “So, I called Church because I thought you were with him last night…because you two always end up on some back road talking about your life or some shit but you weren’t with him.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, “I was with Bellamy, if you must know.”

“Your fiancé, Bellamy?”

She shifts in her chair before meeting his eyes, “Yes.”

“All night?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“The apartment.”

“Ahhhh,” He closes the paper and tosses it across the table. “They’re still debating the confederacy again…personally, they can’t deny people the right to wave it around their yards but I believe they should have lowered the flag when that sick individual slaughtered those people. It’s disgusting how politicians can slip in at a time of moral crisis to put in their opinions.” She agrees with Ayden’s thoughts on human news for the most part, but she knows it’s a front before he starts interrogating her on the details of her night. “So, Bellamy?”

Clarke reaches into the small metal box, a souvenir from their childhood, and pulls out a pre-rolled blunt. It’s also part of the brunch tradition. They enjoy getting truly and utterly baked before they do their day-to-day activities. “Lighter.”

He digs the zippo out of his pocket and tosses it towards her. “You’re evading the question, Clarke.” She lights it with ease and inhales as much as she can before she tilts back her head, releasing the lungful she gathered.

“I’m not evading anything. I spent the night with Bellamy, do you need the dirty details?” Clarke arches her eyebrow as she passes off the very thing that would not surprise her mother to him.

“Are there dirty details?” He counters as he releases the smoke through his nose. Ayden analyzes her. “There _are_ dirty details. Did you hook up with him?”

She nods, “Yeah, I hooked up with him last night…” a devious smile plays on her lips, “and this morning.”

“Gross.” Ayden flicks ash in the glass tray Clarke painted for the occasion. “Well, mom is going to freak out if she finds out and dad…dad’s going to kill you. You might be able to plea out on account of him being your fiancé and everything but, fuck, why would you do that?”

Clarke sighs, “You wouldn’t get it…” He prompts her with a soft glare, “Remember that time we thought cliff-diving would be fun? We didn’t think twice about it even though we were thirteen years old and the consequences for being so reckless were always evident. We jumped off a fucking cliff and later on, we got our asses handed to us and grounded for three months…but don’t we still say it was _worth it_?”

“I see a metaphor forming here and I don’t really like it.” Ayden claims, “He makes you suicidal.”

Clarke snorts, “I’ve never been so fearless in my life. It didn’t matter—it still doesn’t matter—what anyone thinks. I took the dive and I’m happy with it, he’s happy with it. It wasn’t about solidifying a deal, it was about mutual attraction and connection. I don’t want my marriage to be about this Coven. I want it to be about me. Now, it is. Now, we will have something that isn’t mandated between us forever.” She looks down at the table, “Even if everything else blows up in our faces, we will always have last night.”

“Do you think you will blow up?” Ayden would be a psychologist in another life.

“Doesn’t everything that burns too hot eventually burn out?”

“Spoken like a true cynic.”

“There isn’t that much to be positive about anymore...”

Ayden clear his throat, “On that note, I want to celebrate your full transition to the disappointing dark side tonight. We’ll invite the usual suspects and I’ll have the nerds cook up something special.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s not much to be positive about anymore, sure…but that doesn’t mean tonight has to be one of those negative nights.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write these chapters in an hour so please ignore all my errors. 
> 
> I would love some more feedback about the character interactions. Is there something you want? Something you NEED? 
> 
> -Brooke


	8. Emergency Meetings

Clarke’s wearing an electric blue bandeau top with a cotton lining and a tight lace exterior. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination, the cotton lining only extending to the front of the top. It stops three and a half inches before her navel. Ayden looked at her questioningly before shrugging it off as, “Celebrating sinners in the best way possible.” She accents the blue with tight black skinny jeans, her form-fitting leather jacket and a pair of heels. Raven told her to put her hair up in a high bump which meant she had to suffocate her brother with hairspray as she got ready. She wore a lot more makeup than last night considering she had no plans to go swimming anytime soon. The cat-eye looked daringly perfect on her features.

They don’t walk out of the apartment until a little after 9:30 but they make it to the bar in record time. Raven smacks her on the ass when they meet her and Wick outside of the bar and repeats her offer to “try something freaky” with her. Clarke throws her head back and laughs and it feels good to be lost in some inside joke from middle school. It feels good to be surrounded by such happy people even if her mind is impossibly troubled by her future.

The same bartender is working and he flashes Clarke a charming grin—she knows her drinks will be free tonight. Not that it matters because Jasper and Monty are snickering with each other in the group’s usual long, circular booth. She knows they’ve met Ayden’s request by the shine in their eyes. Even Murphy made it, though he looks a little bored with the same ole, same ole. He always looks like he’s about to make a break for clearer coasts.

Ayden spins his sister around in a circle while everyone takes a seat, “Now, you all are probably wondering why I’ve gathered you guys together.” He pauses his spinning to hug Clarke close to his side. “Clarke has been deflowered and we are going to drink all night long in celebration!”

“I think you’re running out of excuses to get wasted.” Murphy comments but accepts the flask from Jasper anyway. “Not that I’m complaining. The princess getting it on is a miracle. Why isn’t Church here to celebrate his spoils?”

“Dumbass, who did she go home with last night?” Raven asked, tossing one of the cheap pretzels in his direction. “She didn’t lose it to _Church,_ she lost it to Bellamy.”

Murphy chuckles, “Oh, holy shit.”

The twins finally settle down and accept Monty’s offering of plastic shot classes as he looks to see if the bartender is paying attention to them. Jasper keeps checking Clarke out even if she’s wearing a chunky white necklace that covers up some of her exposed cleavage. Wick takes a shot and admits, “I actually like the guy…Bellamy seems cool. He might have a little bit of jackass in him but he _likes_ you.”

Clarke smiles, “We’re just friends.”

Jasper almost chokes on the strong taste of moonshine. “Well, fuck, Clarke we’ve been friends for years! I’m officially jealous!”

“Oh, shut up loser. You know what I mean…we aren’t dating or anything. We like each other but we don’t know each other at all.” Clarke tilts her head to the side, “It’s simple attraction without all the complex shit in our lives. The beautiful start to suitable marriage.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Everyone agrees with a clanking of their filled plastic cups. She doesn’t know how many she’s downed so far but it doesn’t even matter to her. She came here looking to get wasted, looking to get completely and totally gone in the mixture of laughter and love.

They’re pretty buzzed when everyone’s phones start to ring loudly. Clarke groans because she knows exactly who it is by the annoying ringtone. “Fuck, what the hell does the council want as this hour?” She hisses as she yanks her phone out of her back pocket.

Wick answers first, “Emergency meeting.”

“Return to base A.S.A.P.” Monty groans, capping the moonshine with a frown on his face. “What the hell could possibly be going on, now?”

Clarke looks at Ayden with the first sign of fear she’s had all day, “Werewolf attack.” In her heart, she knows someone has been killed by a wolf. It’s the only reason they would all be called in this late at night.

-x-

There’s no time to change into the mandatory outfits and as far as she’s concerned, emergency meetings are a reason to show up in plain clothes. Her entire group walks into the council hall reeking of stale cigarettes, a little bit of marijuana and the moonshine concoction they’d all been funneling down their throats. Clarke’s pissed off that her night’s pretty much ruined, but she’s more nervous than anything. What if it was someone she knew?

She likes to think they looked damn good walking into the hall; a unit of sophisticated, sexy people. Almost everyone is already there, waiting around with grim faces as they drink the offered coffee and pick around the limited sources of food. She thinks about guzzling some coffee to sober up but she changes her mind when she sees Bellamy and a group of his people near the table. His mother included.

Raven stands beside her as Ayden ignores all signs from Clarke and gets coffee with Wick. She watches out of the corner of her eye as he strikes up a slurred conversation with Bellamy and his friends. _Fuck, s_ he thinks repeated as she turns away from them and starts aimlessly talking to her nerds.

“You’re acting like an idiot.” Raven says with a smug smirk on her face. “You look hot and you’re turning away from him so he won’t see that cute little top you’re wearing. Flaunt your body, you know he loves it.”

She sighs, “I’m not—“

“Clarke!” It’s not who she wants to call her name. “Hey, I haven’t heard from you all day--“ Church narrows his eyes as he takes in the intoxicated bunch. “Did you guys go out without me tonight?”

“Uh, it was kind of spur of the moment.” Clarke lies, really, really wanted that coffee now. “I haven’t really been on my phone today…this message was the first I’ve read since I left the bar last night.”

Church rolls his shoulders, a sign that he’s either hurt or aggravated. “Yeah, about that, Ayden called looking for you this morning. Where the fuck were you?” Raven sees the beginnings of a fight and grabs both of the nerd’s arms and gives Murphy a glare to give them some space. She knew Church wouldn’t react well, even if he had no claim over her whatsoever. It’s this twisted sense of belonging to each other when they’ve never really been that way with each other. He couldn’t expect her to wait around forever, could he?

“I was with Bellamy.”

“Who’s Bellamy?”

“You would know if you bothered to come to the meeting yesterday. You know, the meeting you promised to attend. I mean, I know you aren’t really excited about this whole arranged marriage thing but it’s not like you’re not one of my best friends.” She crosses her arm and looks over to see if Ayden is still acting like a drunk moron with her fiancé. “Bellamy’s _him._ ”

Church takes a step back, “You spent the night with _him_?”

“Yes, I spent the night with him.” Clarke digs her fingernails into her hands as she looks at him. He’s making her angry because he doesn’t have a _right_ to question her actions. He made sure a long time ago that he would never have that right and it was a never from a lack of her trying. Her head keeps saying, _you used to want him._ How can she “used” to want him when yesterday morning, she was pining for the guy? “And it’s none of your business, okay? You aren’t my boyfriend, Church.”

“You know that isn’t fair.”

“It’s not fair? To who? You?” Clarke’s on the verge of making a scene, “I’m going to marry him regardless of how you feel…and I was going to eventually have sex with him. You have to know that’s how marriage works.”

“I just didn’t expect you to jump into bed with him so quickly. I thought you respected yourself more.” His words are bitter and harsh, a side of him that she’s not used to hearing. It doesn’t do anything good for her temper.

“Oh, go fuck yourself Church!” She says a little too loud, gaining her brother’s attention. Ayden’s by her side in a second with Wick on his heels.

He looks at Church, “Problem, brother?”

“Not one that concerns you.” Church’s jaw clenches shut as he tries to avoid eye contact with Ayden. They rarely fight but Ayden’s always pointed out that Church is her friend, not his. He’s never been terribly fond of the guy. The way his blue irises flare makes her think that he’s pretty much done with shipping them as the couple of the year. “You know about them?”

Clarke mentally sighs because she should have known their story would end with hurt feelings. She would always belong to someone else. He would always keep her waiting on the sidelines while he invented a life for himself. It’s never been love, it’s always been the comfort of talking to someone at 2 AM on a backroad in the middle of nowhere without any type of hesitation.

And now it’s bitterness for a situation she can’t control any more than he can. She wants to know what he expected from her but she’s too scared to ask the question because just like everyone else in her life, his expectations are impossible to reach without some type of upper hand. Unfortunately, she’s never had an upper hand when it comes to love.

“Yes.” Ayden studies him through narrowed eyes, “And it’s none of my business. Clarke can make her own choices. I think you need to take a breather.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Church meets her eyes again and she sees his pain, his regret. It’s hard to understand how something can start so quickly, while another ends just as fast. It’s the beginning of an era for her and Bellamy—she has to believe that as Church turns his back and walks out of the meeting before it even starts. She has to believe that she’s making the right choices or she’ll lose her mind.

 _He’s my best friend._ Clarke tells herself because for so long, he’s been the person she turns to with every little problem. Does this mean that their over? Just like that, years of friendship destroyed because she’s moving on with her life? Because she’s following the path she’s been ordered to follow since birth.

Clarke finally takes the time to grab some coffee mostly because she needs to taste something other than disappointment on the tip of her tongue. Bellamy’s next to her before she can finish filling up her cup. “I think a majority of your friends are drunk, Princess.”

“Ayden definitely is...” She turns around and smiles at him. He can’t even stop himself from checking her out. “We’re celebrating being huge disappointments to our parents at the bar.”

“I heard. Little bummed that I didn’t get an invitation seeing as I’m apparently a guest of honor according to your brother and Wick, was it?” Clarke nods as a blush heats her face again. Of course Drunk-Ayden overshared. “How wasted are you?”

“Sobering up by the minute.” She finds herself grinning wider than before. “I assume he extended an invitation?”

“Oh, he did but I didn’t know whether or not I wanted to accept seeing as you’ve left me very confused on whether or not I’m allowed to call you…and whether or not I’m allowed to make plans that involve you.”

Clarke takes a step closer, emptying her cup and setting down on the food table he’s leaning against. It’s weird how they set them up parallel to each other like a buffet line. “Do you want to call me?”

“Yes.”

“Then call me.”

“What about seeing you?”

“Then see me.”

He looks off to the side before meeting her eyes with a smirk, “I think you enjoy leaving me with questions.” Clarke wants to kiss him but she knows it would raise many questions within her Coven. She doesn’t need everyone in their business. “You like leaving me hanging, Princess?”

“Come to the bar tonight.” She whispers, “And I won’t leave you hanging.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Kane stands at the foot of the podium he only uses in rare cases. He usually pretends to be one with the people by sitting at their level. Clarke appreciates the maneuver but she’s never really been the type to buy into his bullshit, even when she thought he was her father. He clears his throat before he raises his head to meet their eyes, “One of our own was attacked tonight by a wolf claiming to not have ties to the pack.” He shakes his head, “It’s most likely a cover up used to prevent a full on war. It proves they are scared of our masses. It proves they are cowards, picking us off one by one because they cannot take us as a unit. There will be a memorial for our fallen family member after the victim’s remains are successfully identified.”

She knew it was a werewolf attack, yet the news still makes goosebumps rise on her skin. “They’re going to move up the wedding.” Clarke whispers next to him. “It’s the next logical step. He’s discussing our strength as a unit to sweeten up your people and then he’s going to suggest solidifying this treaty before another attack.” She can’t stop the erratic beating of her heart.

Bellamy knows she’s right.

“You can’t legally get married until you’re eighteen. We have time.”

“Parental permission.” Clarke shakes her head and wryly laughs, “There’s always a loophole when it comes to Kane getting what he wants.” _Bastard._ “Within the week, we’ll have a date.”

Kane continues, “Until further notice, we’re putting a curfew in place for our youth and out-of-town trips are being cancelled.” There are multiple groans from her friends and some of the less involved adults that flow in and out of Chicago at will. “Curfew during the weekdays will be 1 AM because I realize that if I make it any sooner, they will not follow it.” _No shit._ The Coven still laughs at his joke. “Curfew during the weekends will be 2 AM. Violation of these temporary codes will result in severe punishment. I ask everyone to remain armed and ready to defend yourself against these beasts at all time.”

He repeats the information he divulged during yesterday’s meeting with the masses while Clarke looks down at her heels. “Expectations are the main source of disappointment.” She mutters under her breath when he dismisses the meeting. Kane meets her eyes and she nods her head in acceptance. There’s nothing else she can do. He returns the gesture, confirming all of her beliefs. She watches him approach Aurora Blake afterwards with her mother following him. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“It’s a little past midnight, no point in going back to the bar.” Clarke shrugs, “I’ll see if everyone wants to revive this party back at my apartment.”

“And if they don’t?”

“I guess we’ll have a party for two…that is, if my brother is half as drunk as I think he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback?


	9. The After-Party

The party continues because that’s all they’ve ever really had in their youth; one endless party to drown out the endless disappointment of being _alive_ and _dead_ at the same time. Clarke bites her gloss-covered bottom lip as she smokes on her balcony with Bellamy by her side. He’s sprawled out in Ayden’s chair, legs open in a relaxed state. He’s wearing a jacket even though it’s summertime, just like her. Clarke wore it so she didn’t look like a complete slut, she didn’t know why he was sporting one. He’s wearing a dark gray, soft looking t-shirt underneath it.

The intimacy of being together while her entire apartment is filled makes her feel buzzed. Bellamy always makes her feel different than even the hardest liquor—even the pure ethanol they’re drinking when Jasper and Monty bring the booze. It’s with this realization that she remembers she never popped open the Jack Daniel’s the night before. Maybe she’s not an alcoholic.

He looks contemplative next to her as if he’s lost in thought. Her stature is a confusing mixture of melancholy and hope, one that she doesn’t even know how to understand. She can hear Jasper squealing like a child as Wick shows everyone a video on his phone. Their laughter is beautiful. “That guy…” Bellamy starts, “The vegan vampire?”

“Church.” Clarke shakes her head 'no' and peeks through her eyelashes at him. She brings her blunt to her lips before she continues, “We grew up together…at first, he was like a second brother to me and then, he _wasn’t_ a second brother to me. I, uh, I had very strong feelings for him. Maybe he returned them but we knew the rules. He knew the rules, I guess because I wanted a fairy tale story where we beat the system and run off into the sunset like morons with no regard for realistic problems…I got rejected, he started dating human girls that I go to school with and…just a lot of things happened and now, you’ve happened.”

“You love him?”

“I don’t know.” It’s an honest answer.

Bellamy exhales and accepts the blunt she’s offering him. “You told him about us.” It’s not a question, he can tell that she did.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I think he always assumed that I would end up in an unhappy marriage…that maybe one day, after I gave myself away to someone, he could sweep in and rescue me from this political bullshit.” Clarke sighs, “For the first time, one of his plans seems to be failing because I don’t know if I _want_ to be rescued from you.” Clarke shakes her head in an attempt to clear it, “It doesn’t make sense, not really, but I needed him to know that I’m still making my own choices given the situation we’re in… that I chose you.”

He releases a long breath, “I wish I had someone to save me from you. I’m pretty sure you’re going to be the death of me especially if you keep wearing these tight little outfits.” Bellamy chuckles as she gets out of her chair and straddles his lap with a clever gleam in her eyes. His hands work quickly to remove her jacket, “I want you to meet me tomorrow night at my hotel. Don’t argue…I want to see you, so I’m going to see you.” His words are a soft breath but she understands that he needs a little more from her than what she’s giving him. That he’s going to take charge. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Clarke takes the opportunity to suck on a sweet spot on his neck, causing him to wrap his arms tightly around her back and shift their bodies so he’s pressed against her core. Her breathing continues to spike as he grinds into her. “Yeah, that’s okay.” She pants when he pushes her neck to the side and starts kissing where he bit her before, grumbling when he gets to the necklace she’s wearing. “Mmmm, please Bellamy.” He unclasps it, letting it hit the floor without much care.

“Anyone can walk out here.” His voice vibrates against her skin but she knows his warning lacks weight. He doesn’t give a damn if the entire world sees what they’re doing. “Anyone, Princess.”

Her eyes shine brightly, “I don’t care.” Clarke navigates his head closer to her shoulder as her fangs extend. She hears him groan when they scrape across his skin, her hand moving the collar away from his neck. She can feel the blackened veins against the smooth skin of her shoulder as she lets out a loud moan. He grips her tighter, his raging hard on feeling fantastic against her. The sharp points dig into her skin, deepening with each second. The feral sound that he rips out of her makes him stir underneath her. At first, the pleasure of being latched onto, of being consumed by lightheaded ecstasy prevents her from marking him but as time persists, she finds herself regaining some sort of thought.

She does not ease into it, rather takes him like she takes her prey. If he was human, he would be bleeding out into her warm mouth. The feel of his pulse makes her close her eyes, the taste of his blood causes her to growl with a sense of possession as if he’s truly hers.

The act alone is entirely too intimate for what they are to each other—or maybe the act alone is the admittance to what they mean to one another, what they will always mean in years to come. Maybe their either too stupid or too scared to desperately want each other with words.

Her hips press into his as she searches for any type of friction. His hands move to her sides to keep her directly on him. Clarke releases him, licking at the bloody wound while rasping, “Oh my god.” Her cheek rubs against his sloppily as she tries to control her body movements. She’s trying to clean up all the blood from his neck while simultaneously fighting off a premature orgasm. Clarke puts his jacket over the mark and places both hands in his hair. Her back is arching as he releases her, his tongue darting across the marks on her neck.

Clarke whimpers when he meets her eyes, her blood on his face. “I bet you’re soaking.” He comments huskily before he runs his tongue across her mouth to clean off the blood that’s drying on her lips. His hands run down her back, past her jeans to the globes of her ass that aren’t covered by her thong.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that.” She counters, “That is, if you’re staying tonight…”

“I am…” He tells her with a smirk, “How about I take you to bed, Princess?”

Clarke nods, climbing off of him to grab her jacket in an attempt to conceal the fresh mark on her neck. She knows he’s watching her every movement with a fire in his eyes, like he’s prepared to pounce at any moment. She takes his eagerness as a good sign. Clarke still tastes his blood in her mouth as she opens the glass door. Her friends are dwindling down as they step through her apartment.

Jasper’s eyes are almost closed as he leans back in her mix-matched chair while Monty is already asleep on the floor. Raven and Wick must be in the guest bedroom and Ayden is laying across their kitchen table. She doesn’t know why and she really doesn’t care at the moment. Murphy is awake, watching some type of movie with _her_ bottle of Kinky. Bitch.

She reaches for him, intertwining their fingers. Clarke tugs him towards her bedroom, shutting the door after their inside. She sheds her jacket, tossing it on the white carpeted floor and he does the same. The room is personal—more than the master bedroom back at their place. He takes this in as she kicks off her heels and unpins her hair. Clarke shakes it out, the volume making her look like a super model. She makes quick work of her pants, kicking them down her legs surprisingly fast.

He takes a step forward, she pushes him back against the door. She crowds him, eyebrows raised in a dare. Her hands play with them hem of his shirt before she’s pulling it up his body, her mouth toying with the exposed skin until she’s nipping at his clavicle. He takes off his shirt, letting it drop at their feet. Clarke finds herself running her tongue across the bite mark, sucking at it until he groans.

He’s not quiet at all.

Clarke runs her palm down his stomach, undoing his belt as fast as she can. It joins the rest of their clothes with a clinking noise. She unbuttons his pants, shoving them down his legs along with his briefs. She doesn’t meet his eyes when she places one hand on his shoulder and her other around his throbbing cock. He thrusts into her hand while she massages him from base to tip. “Fuck, Clarke.” He knocks his head against the door as he controls his breathing.

“Shhh, baby…” Clarke whispers, leaning her forehead near his shoulder as she increases her pace. He squeezes his eyes shut and raggedly breathes her name. Clarke sinks to her knees, continuing to caress his stiff member as she looks up at him. Her tongue runs across her lips, wetting them before she parts her lips.

Bellamy pushes her hair away from her face, the sincerity in his eyes making her heart stop and her brain go fuzzy. He continues to touch her, his fingertips ghosting over her neck. Her mouth is slick, welcoming his cock. She’s careful not to use her teeth although her body wants to go into full vampire-mode. Clarke is lost in his eyes as she prompts him to thrust. Her hands reach blindly for his, pining them to the door after tracing her fingers across his palms.

Essentially, he is fucking her mouth and she likes it. Clarke _really likes_ the way he feels. She dips her tongue into his slit, tasting the saltiness of him. Prematurely, she takes more of his length until she gags, her throat tightening around him. “Easy, Princess…” He pries one of his hands free, placing it on the back of her head. She swirls her tongue as he freely pushes her head on him at his pace.

Engulfed in the wet heat of her mouth, he doesn’t know what’s getting to him more. The way she’s sucking his cock with the same vigor as she sucked on his neck, or the way she’s looking up at him with those impossibly innocent eyes. “Fuck, _fuck_ …Princess, stop.” An arousing, wet sound comes from her when she releases him. Her lips are a dark red, wet with salvia that gathers in the corners of her mouth.

“Something wrong?” Her cheeks and neck turn a light pink color as he looks down at her with _bloodshot_ eyes. His mouth is open, his eyelids are heavy whether that be from a sense of feeling desperate or heated, she isn’t sure. He kicks off his shoes and pants as she readily rises to her feet, taking the hand she previous had against the door. Clarke pulls him towards the end of her bed, “It’s not as comfortable as our bed back at the apartment…”

Her skin prickles when he pushes her back against the mattress and kisses down her stomach, jerking the thong down her legs. “Open your legs for me, Princess.”

“Ask nicely.”

He places a few more kisses down her stomach before murmuring, “Pretty please open your legs so I can make you come.” Clarke is stunned but still complies with his request. “Oh, you _are_ soaking wet.” He drags two fingers over the seam of her pussy, pushing between her lips to feel the slick accumulation. “Shit, Clarke…” He exhales, bringing the wetness up to her clit with his thumb as he starts to tease her entrance. She clenches around him and lets out a shaky gasp. “Good?”

“Yeah,” She pants irregularly as he roughly circles her clit while curling his fingers in her with each languid thrust. She mewls his name when he kisses her navel, shoving is tongue into it the way he pushes his fingers inside her wet heat. It isn’t until he sink lower, replacing his fingers with his mouth, that she feels completely out of control. His tongue flicks around her clit but she notices he’s not doing that lame ass thing Raven complains about all the time—the whole alphabet thing. He’s doing his own thing and it’s making her keen and gasp and jerk. “Oh my god, oh my god…” She cries out with a laugh as her body starts to tremble. Bellamy nips her clit, “Fuck, you’re going to make me—“

“Let go, Princess.”

It’s white noise from there.

Static as splintering explosions cause a moaning mixture of curses and his name. Bellamy lets her ride it out while he strokes her stomach, massages her breasts, and moves up to press an open mouth kiss to her quivering lips. Clarke returns it, satisfied with it’s lazy pace as she recovers.

Her fingers tangle in her hair as she sighs moving up the bed towards her soft pillows. Bellamy moves off the bed, grabs the condom from his jeans’ pocket. Clarke slides the top over her head, throwing it near her dresser. She’s as naked as him, now and he’s very aware of that. He joins her after rolling the condom on. They don’t break eye contact.

Clarke straddles him before he can position himself, splaying her hands across his chest as she slides down his cock. He grips her hips to keep her steady as she works her thigh muscles with each rise and fall. He watches his cock disappearing in her over and over again as her breath hitches. She’s setting a rhythm he enjoys, the speed making him grunt.

Her hands slide up, gripping his shoulders tightly as she hums.

Bellamy likes the view, too—the way her full breasts bounce with each thrust, the way her head occasionally falls back when he hits a particularly good spot. He starts to lose the rhythm when his instinct to pull her hips hard against his takes over. Her fingernails scrape from his shoulders to his luscious abs, drawing blood that she leans down to lick from his skin. He thrusts harder into her until she’s making broken noises, until she’s only saying his name, until she’s riding out another orgasm—far less powerful than the first, but still mind-numbing.

He goes tense as her sweat coated body collapses against his, feeling the way her pussy continues to pulse even as he climaxes. He places a hand on her back as she huffs out hard breaths. He kisses her hair, “You did good.”

“I try.” She smiles into his neck, rolling off of him so he can dispose of the condom. “Bathroom.” Clarke points to the door on the opposite wall and waits for him to leave before she climbs out of bed and puts on one of her chemises. It’s her favorite—a navy blue with a sheer lace down the center. The whole sleeping naked thig was good for the first night, but it’s not her favorite thing to do. She likes the satin of it, the way it lulls her to sleep…

Bellamy returns as she throws her hair up in a messy bun with a cheeky grin, “You’re beautiful, you know that, right?” Her cheeks turn bright red when he falls into bed, patting the mattress for her to join him. Clarke follows, rolling on her stomach again. Bellamy rubs her back in circles, mumbling nonsense about her appearance before he launches into other semi-romantic mutterings. “If I had a choice, if I was some lucky bastard that had some sort of say in if I get married and to who, I wouldn’t make you marry me.”

“Is this because I can’t cook?” She laughs although she’s curious with where he’s taking this.

“No, it’s because I know you want to be free.” He kisses her cheek, “And I know the last thing you want to do is get married, even if I’m irresistibly charming.”

“It’s not personal.” She tells him, “I grew up thinking Kane loved my mother and it turns out, he couldn’t give a damn about us. By then, my entire concept of marriage was destroyed. I think it should be for love, for the next step…not for a treaty. That being said, I’m happy it’s you.”

“I’m more lucky...” He says before she closes her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments? I seriously apologize for all the errors in this one. I'm trying to fix them now. 
> 
> -Brooke


	10. The Call

The erratic buzzing of her iPhone in the pocket of her crumbled jeans wakes her from a dreamless sleep. Clarke is far too comfortable to move from the position she found herself in, her cheek resting against his bare back and her legs tucked in between his. Her phone starts ringing once more, prompting a raspy groan from her. “Just ignore it.” He whispers into the pink pillows he’s claimed as his own. She nuzzles into his skin prepared to go back to sleep when her phone breaks out into another fit of odd vibrations. “Babe…” He complains as she peels herself off of his skin and stumbles towards her jeans.

She crouches down, most of her ass hanging out of the chemise as she nearly drops her phone on the carpet. “Fuck, it’s the council.” Clarke mutters under her breath as she accepts the call. She can hear the way he’s shifting in bed, probably moving to watch her while the council locks in her fate. “Good morning, Officer Fox, go ahead and patch them through.” It’s a sign of respect to call the guards—even cadets—Officer when communicating. It’s the militaristic set-up the Coven fully embraces that keeps her on her toes. Given, she only does it on political calls.

The silence that greets her makes her nervous. Clarke removes the tie holding up her hair and shakes it out so she has something to do with her hands. She hears him shift on the bed again, this time she smiles. “Stop checking out my ass.” Her voice is light despite the sea of emotions raging inside of her. The fact that the council made a decision so quickly on expediting her life makes her angry, makes her feel expendable.

“No thanks, I like the view.” He purrs in a way that has her mouth running dry and her toes curling on instinct.

“Mmm, down boy.” Clarke counters, clearly effected by his efforts. He chuckles, his entire body rocking with it. If the moment wasn’t tainted by the people on the other end of the call, she would join him in the laughter—in the joy of their blossoming relationship. It’s simple. These are the last seconds that it can truly be _simple._ Right now, they’re just hanging out before the parties, before the events, before the wedding that finalizes the united front their supposed to symbolize. She wants to tell him something but she doesn’t know how to find the words for it.

More than anything, she wants to hang up and crawl back into the position she was just in but the line picks up and everything is once more _political_ and _realistic_.

Kane wastes no time, “We’re calling a private meeting tomorrow afternoon at precisely _1 PM_.” Her eyes close on reflex as if she’s lost something but doesn’t want the world to see her pain. In her mind, she has no right to be upset or hurt—she knew they would move up the date after last night’s attack. She knew it was the logical step in the game plan.

She knows that Bellamy isn’t a horrible guy, she knows that they have the potential to have a better marriage than she ever expected. But she also knows that she’ll have to give up parts of her lifestyle that her human friends, no matter how few there are, won’t have to give up for another decade. It’ll start with her apartment and the tacky wallpaper she and Ayden bought as a joke, and then it’ll be her youthfulness…they’ll make her choose a leadership position that puts her on the fast track to the metaphorical “throne” in the Coven hierarchy. Then, she’ll be working too much to go to The Dropship and get fully plastered with her _normal_ friends. And somewhere within all this, they’ll expect her to get pregnant because tradition hasn’t changed since the dark ages for some reason.

She just wants to have a choice in the matter.

“I don’t need to explain what will happen if you are a minute late, you’re fully aware of protocol.” Kane continues in his throaty voice, the one he uses when he’s trying to threaten her life or explain that she’s being inconsiderate to centuries of traditions.

The carpet suddenly becomes very interesting to her as she tries to fight off pieces of anger that escape her thick walls of unshed emotions. “I’ll be there.”

Kane does not offer any type of goodbye, not that she ever expected anything but the tell-tale sign of someone ending the call. He’s not the “I love you” type and it wouldn’t carry much weight with her anyway. But still, it would be nice to know that the man who raised her felt some sympathy for the situation or _felt something,_ period.

“Clarke,” Bellamy begins but she’s already moving around her bedroom, looking angrily for a hair brush. _Why’d he have to say my name like that?_ Clarke mentally groans, locating the red handle of her brush. “Hey, Clarke…it’s going to be okay.” His words aren’t helpful.

“How old are you?” She bites back, yanking her brush through a particularly stubborn knot in the process. “Twenty-three, right? You made in nearly six years past the age-of-consent without having to give up anything…I don’t even get to make it one year. How is that okay?” Clarke grips the side of her vanity dresser and releases an easy breath, “I’m sorry…I know this is the best thing for our people considering the increased aggression in the area. I don’t mean to sound so selfish.”

“It’s going to be okay.”

_I know._

Clarke pushes off the dresser and walks to his side of the bed, her hands coming to wrap around his neck. “I know I’ve won some type of lottery by being paired with you.” Her palm settles on the side of his face, feeling the microscopic stubble on his jaw. She gives him a small smile, “But we’re living two different lives right now…and the political side is going to win. It always wins...and it always destroys the purest things.”

Ringing breaks off his response.

Clarke looks at the floor again with a frown playing on her lips, “That’s you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :( 
> 
> *Comments make me update faster*
> 
> -Brooke


	11. Proposition

The Bluetooth in her car tunes out a wretched song about life choices and the beauty of them as she navigates through the nightly traffic of her least-favorite area in Chicago. Unfortunately, she happens to live in said area—even worse, it’s where the council put up Bellamy and his family. It’s irrational for her to feel nervous about seeing him tonight, but she’s been in a foul mood for most of the day following the fateful phone call from daddy-dearest. Lack of control, high anxiety levels and not enough alcohol contribute to her bad mood but there’s nothing she can do about it now. She hopes Bellamy can brighten her night without much talking.

All possibilities of this are dashed when her eyes scan across the radio to read the Caller ID. “Fuck, just leave me alone.” The council is the main cause of all her problems, she just wants them to stay out of her life. “Identification number 3-1-9. Reason for contact?” Her fingers tap the steering wheel impatiently as she waits for a response.

“Clarke,” It’s her mother. Another reason for her to grind her teeth together. “There’s a dinner tonight that I need you to attend. Can you be ready within the hour?” Clarke’s mouth falls open in mock shock as if her mother can see her reaction. It’s like she can’t catch a break today. It’s like she can’t catch a break at all.

A twinge of hope prompts her to respond, “Mom, I have plans.”

“Getting intoxicated with your brother does not qualify as a fit excuse to skip a vital dinner, Clarke.” The hypocrisy is entirely real. _What’s your excuse?_ She wants to argue back but instead, she holds her tongue.

“I’m trying to—“ _fuck_ “entertain Bellamy, per my orders to not screw this up.” Her mother clears her throat before Clarke embraces her inner jackass, “I suppose cancelling a date with him might cause a negative reaction but hell, mom, I can take another hit on my record with Kane.” Clarke seems to get in trouble a lot with Kane, especially since she’s grown older and more stubborn.

“Your sarcasm isn’t necessary.” Abby snaps with an iron in her voice that she hasn’t heard in a long time. She listens to her mother as she takes a small breath to calm herself. It’s something she’s been doing since Ayden and Clarke were old enough to terrorize the council. “What if you bring Bellamy along, hm? It’ll be a great chance for you to successfully network as a couple.” Though she didn’t ask if Bellamy and Clarke were a couple, Clarke could decipher the covert question. She doesn’t give her mother the satisfaction of a response at first. “I’m quite shocked that you’ve taken the initiative to befriend him. I expected more of a fight, honestly.”

“Maybe I’m tired of fighting, mom. Maybe Kane finally broke me.”

“Clarke…” There’s a hint of her _former_ mother in Abby’s voice that sends Clarke into a whirlwind of memories. It reminds her of her life _before_ Kane started his climb for power. It reminds her of when they had a small house on the edge of town, when her house was filled with laughter.

“Just email me the details, please.” Clarke slams on brakes at a red-light earning five blaring horns in response. She flicks them all off and returns back to _failing_ to keep her temper. “I’ll be at your fucking dinner.”

“Clarke!”

“Mom, you’re getting everything you want just…just, stop.” She begs, throwing her head against the headrest. “ _Everything_ you want.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“Yeah, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the Coven. I get it.” Clarke breathes, “Listen, I’ve got to go.”

“I love you.”

“You too.”

-x-

The hotel isn’t as comfortable as it should be, she can _just tell._ Clarke might be a little biased seeing as she’s grown accustomed—impossibly so—to associating Bellamy’s presence with _her_ places of comfort. Her bed, their apartment…that’s where he should be. Not some overrated five-star hotel with shitty employment rates. So what if she googled? She’s antsy when she steps into the elevator with a group of humans that smell less than appetizing. Though, she’s always been a little picky when it comes to who she sinks her teeth into.

One by one, people get off on their floors with sour expressions and unamused frowns… she looks forward to the solitary silence. It almost kills her that they show no pleasure in their lives because they _should_ value the choices they’ve been granted to make. The irony of her thinking this while she’s riding an elevator up to her arranged-fiancé’s room does not fail her.

By the time she arrives on his floor, her finger nails are digging into her fleshy palms and her breath is labored due to her irrational anger with the human population and their disregard for free will. Plus, she feels like she’s on the verge of completely disappointing him.

This was his night, not to be tainted by the council.

And she’s the messenger with the bad fucking news.

Damn, she’s wearing a pretty fantastic dress, too. Clarke extends her arm, knocks on the door as daintily as possible. She doesn’t know if she’s too early, or if she’s technically late because he never truly set a time for her to come by his room.

She can hear fumbling through the door and she almost laughs but the doors flying opening to reveal a very shirtless, very good-looking Bellamy Blake and any chance of thinking his momentarily clumsiness was cute goes out the window. “Am I early or did you think I wouldn’t show?”

“Uh…no, I just, we’ve been meeting really late at night.”

“So, early?”

“Yeah, a little.” He smiles, extending his arm to wrap around her waist. Clarke sucks in a deep breath, her throat closing up with every passing second that his mouth isn’t on hers. She just wants his lips, his tongue…but most of all, she just wants his time. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Not yet at least…I really hope you didn’t put a lot of planning into tonight because I just got off the phone with my mom and she needs me to fill in at a dinner party.”

“Oh.”

“She wants you to come with me.”

“ _Oh._ ” Clarke crashes her mouth against his, almost removing him from the doorway when she puts her hand on the back of his neck and drags him closer to her. She's scratching at his abs with her index finger, breaking the kiss to sigh into his skin. “You sure you want to go?” He groans when she kisses his neck. His knuckles are white because he’s gripping the door frame so hard with his free hand.

She whines, “I don’t have a choice.” She pecks his lips a few more times, “Will you go with me?”

“Of course.”


	12. Strangers

If she’d known the moment she walked through the door of Diana Sydney’s 20s style mansion that her entire demeanor on her relationship with Bellamy was going to change, she would have taken him up on his offer to skip the entire event and stay in bed. But there’s one thing that’s absolutely proven— _hindsight is 20/20_. Clarke’s wearing a dress that is both sexy and professional, a long black number that sparkles in the right light. For the most part, she blends in with the rest of the impossibly attractive Coven members. Part of her thinks Bellamy stands out when it comes to being attractive. He sure is gaining a lot of attention from the female population (the same vampire girls she makes vulgar jokes about on the weekends).

She takes a glass of champagne from a silver tray, smiling at the waiter before turning to her dashing date. “Not what you expected?”

“I think your Coven mistakes the term dinner for party.” He says under his breath, reaching for his own glass. Clarke smiles at him, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear. Her fingers knock the diamond dangle earring in the process. She’s trying not to be nervous about their first official outing as an engaged couple but it’s difficult when so many political prostitutes are ogling her every imperfection. “I’m impressed with the outcome. I expected more…elders, for sure.”

“The dinner is disguise.” She whispers behind the long stem glass with a half-smile, “Miss Sydney and her string of monkeys are all in the back smoking expensive cigars and discussing whether or not my parents are doing a fair job of leading us in a high-alert time.” Clarke tilts her head closer to his as she ponders whether or not her parents _are_ doing a good job or not. Objectively, Kane hasn’t done anything too extreme but the week isn’t over yet. “Of course, Diana was gunning for the throne and all so everything Kane does is a disaster and a disgrace on everything this Coven was founded on. My mother didn’t want to attend this shitty charade but forcing her engaged daughter, the purest symbol of their pending treaty, to entertain these bloodsucking bastards is a perfectly fine substitute for her absence. It only puts the icing on the cake that you’re here with me.”

“We’ve been played.” He wryly laughs as he places both of their glasses on a departing tray. “Typical. I’m surprised my mother hasn’t made her grand appearance yet. This is usually her forte.”

“I doubt she was even invited. Most of the guest are for show or for entertainment. The busty blondes and the fiery red heads are strictly for the elders after they are fully hammered following dinner.” Clarke points her head in the direction of Diana’s assistants. His name is Dax and he’s kind of an asshole. “He’s here to make sure there aren’t any scandals. I’m pretty confident he has a license to kill.”

Bellamy snorts, “I had no idea that you were so tuned in on the gossip around here.”

She rolls her eyes, “It’s a gift and a curse. I know everything about the people I’ve grown up with. Though, lately, there are a lot of strangers here because of the treaty…your people, I presume.” He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat in response that she takes as a _yes._ “I’m working on getting to know _you_ and _your people._ ”

“Our people.” He corrects under his breath before he continues, “What is our part in this tonight? No backdoor meetings?”

Her bottom lip pokes out for a second, “We’re supposed to socialize and put on a good face for Kane’s doubters and for the less biased members…we’re supposed to assure them of our strength and of the treaty’s strength.” Clarke forces her best Princess-of-the-Damned smile. “I think we should split up to cover more ground.”

Bellamy nods his head in agreement and points in the direction of an older guy. “One of mine.” He comments before he takes off in the direction of the salt and pepper stud Clarke’s deceased grandmother would have jumped on in less than thirty seconds.

She doesn’t make it to her target—her mother’s friend Callie Cartwig—before a pretty girl about her age approaches her. Her dress is short, nearing club-cut, but Clarke can’t docket points against her for trying to gain the attention of one of the elders. Of course, the second she opens her mouth Clarke starts to doubt that she came to the event looking for one of the sorry suckers. “You’re the fiancée…” The girl comments with a smirk playing at her lips. Her smug tone makes Clarke instantly on edge, only mentally because she knows when to contain emotion. “I’m Bellamy’s girlfriend.” _There’s the catch…_ ”Roma.”

“That’s great.” Her tone doesn’t indicate the way her heart feels like it’s about to implode. Her tone doesn’t indicate the way her brain is filled with a painful sting starting at her temples. She’s suddenly in defense mood and there’s nothing she can do to convince herself of any different route to take with _Roma._

The brunette is taken aback. Clarke can see the beauty in her and maybe that’s what makes her envious. There’s clearly a reason why Bellamy would be attracted to her. Still, Clarke considers herself a polar opposite of the person standing in front of her. “Great?” Roma questions with a squeak in her voice.

“Yeah, I mean…Bellamy and I are just fucking on the regular so it’s great that you sit at home alone at night, wondering exactly how many times I’m screwing him.” Clarke gives her a quick wink and follows with a nonchalant shrug.

“I-I-“ Roma stammers which only adds fuel to Clarke’s ever burning fire.

She laughs with her entire body, ““Don’t know what to say? That happens often in my presence. Try again.”

“You’re—“

“A real bitch, I know… I get that often, too.” Clarke reaches for another glass of champagne, sips at it like it’s nothing. Roma opens her mouth as if she’s about to come up with something _really_ good but she pauses in her blubbering breaths to look over Clarke’s shoulder with wide eyes.

Roma walks away with a quick nod of her head and Clarke prepares herself for whatever _he_ has to say. “Princess—“

“No explanations needed.” Clarke shakes her head as she turns around. “This isn’t the place to have this conversation anyway. I’m going to work the room. You do the same.” Her tone is professional, her words are short. He tries to say her name again but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

She remembers the last time she got her heart broken in Diana Sydney’s mansion. It was last fall and they were welcoming in a few new members into the council. Church and Clarke decided they were going to show up completely shit-faced with a flask in Church’s jacket. They danced for the curious eyes, whispered the songs to each other as if they were personal secrets and broke into Diana’s art gallery with series of giggles. It was almost the perfect night until Clarke went in for a kiss and he backed away. _“I…I need to go home.”_ Those were the first signs that they were ending and she was too in “love” to recognize it.

Clarke finds herself in the art gallery again and once more, she is not alone. There’s a man with his back to her taking slow drags off a cigarette as he examines an original Picasso. “You’ll ruin it.” She comments, crossing her arms over her chest in the process of reprimanding him. He turns around and Clarke is taken by his strong jaw and his piercing green eyes. There’s a dark brown stubble growing across his skin but it seems tamed as if it’s merely for looks and not from a lack of actual grooming. His hair is combed back but it’s not thick with gel or much hair product. She appreciates a male that can successfully groom himself…and can admire a painting.

“I was wondering when you would stumble in here, Miss Kane.” He holds up his cigarette and makes a show of swiping it against his shoe to extinguish it. Clarke’s curiosity is officially spiked. She’s familiar with the Louisianan accent and it warms her, reminds her of better times. “Expected you to be drunker, glad to see you’re breaking bad habits.”

“I don’t know you so I’m not going to waste my time asking if I do…but you seem to know me. How?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I’m leaving.”

He sucks in a breath as if it hurts him to speak, “Griffin.”

“Excuse me?”

The Stranger turns around and repeats himself, “Griffin. I think if you dig back in the archives twenty years or so ago, you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

“And what am I looking for?”

“Answers.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Figure it out.” He walks over to her with a confidence she’s not used to seeing in strangers that approach her. He carries some type of authority, though she doesn’t know who gave it to him. She can’t even tell _what_ he is, let alone what Coven, Clan, or Pack he belongs to if he even belongs to one… he’s a complete mystery that she can’t understand the way she understands most. The man touches her cheek and she feels like she’s about to faint. She could have sworn his eyes changed colors but that could be the lack of oxygen to her brain. “Until we meet again…be safe, stay sharp. Don’t trust the people around you.”

“That’s a lot of advice from a person I don’t even know.” She mumbles, still under the effects of his touch. “What’s your name?”

“Goodnight, _Reine._ ”

“Queen.” Clarke translates out loud, “I’m not a Queen.”

He never responds, simply vanishes before she can blink without another word.

_What the hell just happened?_


	13. The Meeting Part I

Clarke takes in a deep, non-relaxing breath when she pulls into the parking lot. The last person she wants to see is Bellamy—she takes that back as soon as she thinks it, the last person she wants to see is Kane, then her mother, _then_ Bellamy. She knows he’ll try to talk to her, apologize for being sexually active while partaking in a fairly new, unfairly arranged, barely defined relationship with her. Somehow, it’s not fair for either one of them. Where she opened up about her decreasing love for Church, he never peeped a word about a girlfriend or another partner. Where he’s been prompting her to _hint_ the status of their relationship, she’s been playing safe and withholding the way he truly makes her feel. And somehow, it’s all based off of unspoken words.

The solution is simple to point out: Full Disclosure. Yet, it seems almost impossible for her to form a comprehendible statement on _how s_ he precisely feels about him. Part of her sees it as a weakness to approach him and say that she wants to be with him exclusively, the other part of her thinks she’s being a cynical idiot. That same part is the main cause of her continuous disappointment.

Wishful people do not survive in their world, certainly **not** wishful people in her Coven.

If one needed to describe her attire, they would use the word appropriate. Her white dress is knee-length and she’s actually wearing underwear this time. She’s not wearing any jewelry and she lacks her usually dark eye makeup. It’s not that she’s specifically trying to fit within guidelines, she just doesn’t want to deal with Bellamy’s heated glances during the most important meeting of her life.

 _Our life,_ she curses herself for correcting the fact that it’s not just her suffering this “adjustment.” Quickly, she presses the worn numbers of the push-button security system and unlocks the back entrance near the Council Hall’s kitchenette with a heavy sigh. In truth, she’s already felt the sickness in her stomach and the clawing of her anxiety through her brain. She’s already freaked out about the entire thing. Now, there’s only the acceptance that she’s losing everything she wants and deserves so her people can gain a competent army. Now, the only thing she can do is breathe in and breathe out with a sense of tranquilized anger pulsing through her blood.

There’s no point in fighting it.

Never really was a point.

Her phone reads _12:48 PM_ but she doesn’t see anyone around as she eases past untouched ovens and sparkling wine glasses. The momentary solitude is a small blessing she is not ready to leave but the second she exits the kitchen area, she’s met with the familiar clatter the elders make as they discuss rotations and things she’s not sure they should be openly talking about in front of _anyone._ Clarke does her best to ease past them without being seen. She doesn’t stick around long enough to see if they wanted her to join them in the Great Debate of the Decade concerning the distribution of weapons to the Officers and Guards in training.

Clarke doesn’t know why they need bullets packed with Wolfsbane and lethal poisons when _they are weapons_ of flesh and fangs… but war’s never been her forte. The act of taking another life has never been appealing to her nor has discussing the possibility of her killing someone within the span of her existence. The statistics aren’t on her side and never really have been on her side with anything, so she’s aware that it will happen. But like most things, she doesn’t want that day to come.

She almost turns around when she sees Bellamy outside of the hall rubbing his hands together nervously. But she _can_ be professional and she _can_ handle a brief interaction with him without jumping out of her skin. Another breath and she’s standing in front of the door facing him without a hint of emotion on her face. He clears his throat, “That’s not how I wanted last night to go down.”

“Oh?” Clarke’s monotonous response causes him to frown. She notices the way his frown makes him look older, wiser in a way only an official can be. It’s nerve-racking how she’s used to his rustled, post-coital hair…even worse that she wishes she could pull him somewhere and _fix_ the prim and proper style he’s entertaining. Clarke’s stronger than that, though. At least, she’s humoring the concept this afternoon.

“We have to talk about what happened. You left last night, Clarke—“

“Yeah, I did.” She throws back with a little more bitterness in her voice than she wanted to display. “And it honestly doesn’t matter if we talk about it. Probably a waste of oxygen.”

His eyebrows furrow, “How can you say that?” Clearly, he isn’t used to a woman telling him she doesn’t want to talk out a problem in their relationship.

“Because even if—and it doesn’t, okay? But even if it bothered me, I can’t do anything about it. I can’t call off the wedding because you’ve been sleeping with someone while we’re engaged because it doesn’t _work_ that way for me. I’m marrying you no matter what so there’s no point in having a conversation about a girl you’re banging.”

“Dammit Clarke…” He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “You hold all the power here and you have no fucking idea! You were supposed to be a boring Princess that followed all the rules, not _this._ You weren’t supposed to get to me the way you’ve gotten to me. _I_ screwed up bringing Roma here but that was before I met you. And you’re saying you can’t do anything but you could end what we have, end what we could have right now if that’s what you want and I would be a complete mess trying to win you back and you’re not even _mine_ yet.”

The alarm on her phone goes off before she can even think of a response.

_1:00 PM._


	14. The Meeting Part II

The Meeting Part II

“Due to the growing aggression from the wolves, we’ve decided as a unit to expedite these proceedings. The treaty states that Counsellor Blake and her pupils will provide bodies of assistance during this time of war while we will guarantee proper training as well as the technology, the research and resources to maintain a fully functioning military.” The werewolf population has steadily increased over the last two centuries due to their ability to remain in human form for the majority of a month. They can live normal lives in rural areas, whereas vampires rarely succeed in small towns. Their population spreads farther in the United States. It’s one of the biggest issues when it comes to starting a war with a species designed for reproduction. The oddity of it is, werewolves mostly produce twins per statistics. It’s safe to say that for every _one_ vampire child, there are _two_ werewolf children. Clarke understands the important of the treaty when she thinks about logistics and forms her own statistics based off of numbers and supernatural ability. A werewolf bite kills within 48 hours unless properly treated. The only way to kill a werewolf is to shoot it in the heart with a liquidized silver bullet mixed with wolfsbane, cut off the person’s head or rip out their heart. Vampires are notoriously slaughtered when wood touches their heart, when their heads roll, and when their hearts are ripped from their chest. Werewolves clearly have the upper hand with their lethal bites. “To assure this treaty is followed without a disturbance, we have agreed to a marriage. Abigail, please explain the logistics of this specific match.”

Abby Kane is emotionless as she straightens in her seat, ready to address the council members. Diana Sydney is the only person vaguely paying attention to her. It’s as if she’s completely concerned with another matter four hundred miles away. If Clarke could focus on Diana’s contemplating glossy eyes, she would realize something is brewing in the air. She just can’t do it. “As many of you know,” The professionalism in her mother’s voice makes her skin shiver. It’s something she does not understand—can’t for the life of her understand. Abby used to love her so dearly, so purposefully, and now it’s like all of that vanished within a matter of months. Clarke is no longer a daughter, a person, a minor—she’s property ready to be sold. “The sole purpose of a marriage treaty is to solidify an alliance. The most common way to do this is with the birth of a child. After blood tests, I have concluded that Clarke—“

“I didn’t consent to a blood test.” Clarke thinks out loud trying to remember the last time her mother shoved a needle in her arm. She feels sick even thinking about it, “Did you test my blood when Ayden was attacked? You checked to see if I could produce your precious heir while your _only son_ was on his deathbed?” Her eyes flicker up to Kane who is not concealing his anger very well. His knuckles are white as he fists his hands. Only she can make him this angry.

“ _Clarke._ ” He growls from the head of the table, gaining everyone’s attention including Diana. “I thought I made myself clear that there wouldn’t be any of your childish interruptions during this meeting.” _Death._

The rubber-band that’s been stretching in her all summer finally snaps. It breaks. Her head shoots up and she’s so close to telling Kane to go fuck himself it’s unreal. Because she lost her best friend in the entire world because of this marriage—if Kane hadn’t signed over her fate so long to any Coven willing to take her, Church and she could be happy. She honestly believes that she could have had something with him if she wasn’t who she was. Given, she slept with Bellamy and triggered the loss of Church…but her reasoning was clear for sleeping with him.

But her thoughts continue past a lost love…

She’s missing out on her senior year because of this treaty. Raven, Ayden, Jasper, Monty and Murphy would be able to finish with a bang. Graduation, the parties, prom…they would get the experience she wanted in the first place. And why is she missing out on her senior year? Because she’s being forced to conceive with a man she doesn’t know—doesn’t trust—because she’s getting married.

She just hit rock bottom and realized this entire meeting his taking away everything she loves.

Including alcohol.

She can’t drink if she’s pregnant.

“Clarke is viable to reproduce.” Clarke feels like screaming—just loud lungfuls of piercing screams over and over again until they agreed to stop this bullshit wedding. “With this in mind, we’ve come to an agreement that Clarke and Bellamy _will_ marry August 1st of this year and will be expected to conceive within the next six months.”

“The preparations for the ceremony will begin next week.” Aurora looks at her when she says it. It’s not a stern look. It’s almost sad as if she feels for Clarke in the capacity her mother should. “This meeting is dismissed.”

Clarke pushes past an elder, not even sure who it was exactly, as she darts towards the door. If Kane calls her name, she doesn’t hear him. She has nothing nice to say to either one of her parents. The duality of Kane being her father and not being her father is exhausting her mentally. On one hand, he raised her even if it was with a strict hand and a lack of compassion. On the other hand, he’s actively lied to her for almost eighteen years.

The hallway is cold.

But her skin is already victim to the chill of this place killing her. Once she’s outside, the sun doesn’t even heat her. She feels so broken, beat up by the system. Her car is waiting for her…but it’s not what she’s focused on. There’s someone standing by her one true love. His reflection shines against the car—it’s almost blinding. It’s her helpful neighborhood stalker-stranger. “ _You…_ ” Her breathy voice gives her away. If she wanted to capture her usually cool self, she couldn’t in that moment.

“There’s been a change in orders.” He turns around wearing and Clarke is taken by the low dark gray V-neck and his dark-washed jeans. Those green eyes make her heart beat irregularly but she knows this isn’t pure attraction, she doesn’t just want to jump his bones. He might be stealing her breath but she knows better. God, she knows better.

“How did you know where to find me?” Clarke’s pink bottom lip pokes out as she thinks about how creepy this could be if she didn’t already trust him. It’s his touch. There’s just something in his touch that settles her. “I…are you tracking me?” She already knows the answer to the question, what she really should have asked is ‘ _why are you tracking me?’_ but that opens too many doors that she’s not sure her brain can handle right now.

He shrugs one shoulder, a little smirk pulling at his mouth as he takes out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. The solid sound of him slapping the white and red pack against his palm makes her whole body shiver. “There’s a pack of werewolves waiting for orders 80 miles outside of Chicago. We think they’re waiting until the day the treaty is finalized to attack. Clearly, we can’t let that happen.”

“We?”

He looks down at his feet, breathing in before exhaling, “I can’t…”

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she tries to process everything he’s not saying. He works for someone, not involved in the Coven that is concerned about her. “What can you tell me?”

“My name is Ethan Freyr but everyone calls me _Frey._ ” He chuckles as he lights his cigarette. “You wanted to know my name, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Is flirting part of your assignment?” Clarke asks with a raised eyebrow. Frey just takes a drag on his cigarette without answer her. “What are your orders?”

“Protect you.” He shrugs, “Make sure you don’t get yourself into trouble.”

“Where were you Spring Break ’14?” She tries to joke but his eyes darken as he looks over her shoulder. Clarke turns her head and is met by brown, questioning eyes. “I assume you know Bellamy.”

He shakes his head, “I’ve got to go.”

Frey goes to turn but Clarke grabs his wrist, “When will I see you again?” There’s a certain begging in her eyes she’s not used to having there.

“I’ll see you but you won’t see me…not for a while…not unless you need me.” It’s as if he can’t help himself. His hand comes to cup her cheek, “I just need you to be careful and wait for me…wait for the moment I can explain all of this to you.” He looks like he wants to kiss her but not on the lips—one the forehead. It looks like he’s thinking about it for a few seconds before he shakes his head. “Goodbye, _Reine_. Until we meet again.”

And just like the night before, he’s gone in an instant.

Clarke doesn’t wait for Bellamy to cross the parking lot. She jumps in her car and leaves the Council Hall behind with the screeching of her tires.

Her mind is recalling a Norse Myth about a God named Freyr and an Ice Giantess. He saw her brightness from his place in the dark, watched her from a distance and fell madly in love with someone he never met. Freyr wouldn’t admit to anyone that he was in love with her, even though he was pining. They were strictly forbidden from ever being together. But eventually, they got their happy ending… at least, that’s the romanticized version.

…and to think, Frey’s been watching from the distance all this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opinions on Bellamy and Clarke right now?  
> What do you think Bellamy should do?  
> Clarke?  
> And what about Ethan Frey?? 
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> Brooke.


	15. Don't Go

Don’t Go

It’s closer to midnight when she gets back to her apartment wearing her knee-length white dress but a lot more makeup than before. Her lipstick is smeared, her mascara is running but somehow she pulls off looking completely wrecked. So what if she’s a little drunk? There’s never been a better time to get drunk than this one in her opinion. She wants nothing more than to smoke on her balcony and go to bed _alone_ for the second night in a row. She doesn’t care if she’s so far gone she can’t stand afterwards. She doesn’t care about anything right now.

Of course between shot five and shot six she was thinking about Frey and his vague warnings and hints. She was also thinking about those brown eyes that she can’t seem to get out of her head. There are so many reasons to hate him for everything he’s worth but there are also so many reasons she could love him. There’s a reason she climbed into bed with him—it wasn’t all strictly impulse. Maybe the reason she’s so hurt is because she likes him so much, not that she would admit that she’s hurt to anyone.

But the whole dichotomy between Frey and Bellamy is enough to make her head spin. Not to mention _Church_ who seems to be fading on an entirely different level. Church is innocence, though…the drinking, the drugs weren’t so innocent but the way she felt about him was…it makes sense that he’s disappearing in these times. They all make sense somehow.

Clarke expects to see Ayden lounging across the couch when she gets in, what she doesn’t expect to see is Bellamy nursing a beer as Wick tells one of his infamous stories. “Oh, great…” She slurs with a wry laugh as she throws her purse on the floor near the door along with her keys. “ _You’re_ here.” Wick halts in his story to raise his eyebrows at her. Clarke wants nothing more than to give him the bird but that’s just not ladylike. Bellamy clears his throat and stands up. She’s reminded how much taller he is compared to her. Of course he would try to talk to her again—it’s typical.

Their eyes meet and Clarke has to suck in a deep breath to clear her fuzzy mind. She’s torn between hating him and wanting to fuck him. Do you know how hard it is to deal with those two emotions? She tilts her head in the direction of her bedroom and he nods, following behind her in a silent agreement.

It’s dark and damning. She knows it’s wrong to want him after everything. She knows it’s wrong how he’s already in her heart. But she can’t help herself. Her bedroom door is open and she wonders if she left it like that or if someone was in her room. The sound of him shutting the door behind him interrupts that thought process. “Get to it.” Clarke tells him over her shoulder as she pulls the cotton dress over her body and lets it fall to the carpet. Her white lace underwear makes her skin seem darker but it’s a simple illusion. He seems to fall for it, though. He shifts behind her, clearly affected with how naked she’s getting in front of him.

She can tell he’s being sincere when he says, “I’m sorry.”

But she’s not really ready to be the forgiving type. “About which part?” Clarke turns around because she knows her tits look great in the strapless bra. It’s one of the main reasons she bought it.

“Roma…and this whole—“ He waves his hand before she cuts him off.

Her words are stern if not a little too airy, “You’re not the one using me for soldiers so don’t you dare apologize for the acts of my father. That will never be your fault.” Clarke levels with him, taking a step closer to him subconsciously.

“I could stop—“

“Can’t.” Clarke cuts him off again and it seems to get underneath his skin that she won’t let him speak. She wonders if he’ll do something about it. “You can’t stop it.”

“But you—“

“Don’t matter in the scheme of things. My life means nothing compare to the lives of hundreds.” Her eyes fall to his lips—the lips she’s had between her teeth, against her sensitive skin. “But we have fun, don’t we?”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Such a gentleman…you’ll fuck me when you have a girlfriend but you won’t when I’ve been _drinking_.” Clarke snorts, “I drink every night just so you know…this isn’t a new thing for me.”

“What do you want me to say about her, Clarke? I didn’t _know_ you.” He runs his fingers through his hair as he leans against the door. “I know…I know that doesn’t mean anything but I don’t want to be with her. I can be faithful to you, I will be faithful to you as long as you’ll have me.” She takes a few more steps towards him, hand extending to wrap around his bicep. “Just give me a real chance. Not a fling, not an undefined relationship… something real.”

Clarke exhales, “How can we ever have a normal relationship if we’re supposed to have a family by next year?” Her head falls on his chest, “We’re getting married in a matter of weeks. This is never going to be normal.” Clarke rubs her cheek against his shirt, “I…please stay.”

-x-

Clarke wakes up on her side of the bed with the knowledge that he’s lying next to her. She’s wearing his t-shirt because he insisted on her wearing _something_ to bed. As far as attire goes, she’s not disappointed. Her mind is a mess, sure, and it probably doesn’t make sense for her to continue doing things like this with him. But she does want him…wants him physically and in a committed manner. Clarke can’t see herself marrying anyone else. She turns her body so she can see his peaceful face. He’s already watching her which makes her smile despite the doubts running through her head.

“Good morning…” He whispers, touching her lips with his own.

 _I am so confused,_ Clarke internally groans as she throws her leg over his waist and positions herself at a better angle for their kiss. He hugs her closer to his rock solid body as she opens her mouth for him. “I don’t want to be with anyone else.” She means it when she says it between broken breaths. “And I don’t want you to be with anyone else.”

“Okay…what do you want?” His fingers push the collar of the t-shirt out of the way so he can kiss at her neck. Her hips buck into his and she releases a moan.

“I think you know what I want.” Clarke places her hand on his jaw, bringing his mouth back up to hers. She licks into his mouth and pushes him back against the headboard. His hand slides up her hip underneath the t-shirt.

“I’m so glad you forgive me, Princess…”

Clarke pulls away from him, her head tilting down towards the floor. “I don’t forgive you. Bellamy…” She tells him, “You didn’t tell me about her when I opened up about Church. I’m not at a point where I can forgive you for bringing Roma to this meeting…it’s like you didn’t even want this to work out.”

“You don’t trust me, do you?”

“No.”

“I should go.”

“What did you expect? You just wanted me to forgive you like nothing happened? That’s not the way life works! I don’t know you, Bellamy. I don’t know if this was a one-time thing. I’m sure she wasn’t your only partner, so who else is going to come at me? How am I supposed to deal with the countless other women you’ve slept with?” Clarke takes a breath, “Oh, yeah…that’s right, you don’t know how it feels to have your fiancée sleep with anything that moves because I’ve been forced to wait my entire life for you.”

Bellamy picks her up off his lap and sets her down on the bed. “How much do I have to apologize to you before we can move past this?”

“You want me to name my number?” Clarke snorts, “Fuck you, it doesn’t work that way. You can apologize all day and not mean it. I like proof.”

“I don’t know how to prove it to you.”

Clarke shakes her head, “Figure it out.”

His jaw locks, “I’ll see you around, Clarke.”

Clarke throws off his shirt, hitting him in the back of his head. “Don’t forget your shirt, asshole!” He turns around quickly, picking up the shirt before he launches himself in the direction of her. Clarke’s pinned under his body in the matter of seconds. Her hands lock on his shoulders automatically as he plants a bruising kiss to her open mouth. Clarke bites his tongue playfully when he slides it between her lips. It causes him to grind into her and she has to fight back a moan.

“Princess…” He purrs when she wraps her leg around him.

“Don’t call me that…” Clarke argues back, “I’m not your Princess.”

He meets her eyes, powerfully rubbing their hips together. The friction of his jeans against her core make her mouth fall open. “That’s enough. You’re going to listen to me now, Clarke. You understand?” _You want this?_

“Mmm, yes—yes, I understand.” _Please._

Clarke squeals when he buries his face into her neck, licking at the skin and then nibbling. “That feel good?”

“Y-yeah, you know it does.”

She feels his teeth against her neck and she’s about to release a wanton moan when Ayden bust through the door. “Hey, just thought you should know mom and dad are on their way.” He tells them before he shuts the door again. Bellamy growls into her neck before planting a hot kiss there.

“Rain check?” Clarke closes her eyes as she leans against the hot pink pillow he loves so much.

“Yeah.”


	16. 2 AM Calls

Unspoken

In her defense, she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere but Club Nitro tonight with Raven and Jasper…she’s supposed to be letting off some sexual frustration because she hasn’t seen Bellamy in four days and it’s been **difficult** to accept that she likes sex. The deep, deep, deep V-neck top barely covers her nipples, let alone the valley between her breasts. She’s surprised the fabric even covers her navel (and that’s by a mere two inches). The worst part is, the halter top embellished with a gold chain holding up the flimsy fabric, comes with a matching pair of black boy shorts. She was definitely going for “Stripper-chic” to match Raven’s “Stripper-tacky” with the neon colored fishnets and tight galaxy print tube top and cheeky romper with a matching hood. Together, they looked like they were stepping out of a Ke$ha music video—but with Jasper in his “pimp” get-up, they just looked like classy hookers.

Imagine her mother’s face when she walked into the Council Hall after another emergency call with her two friends dressed like _that._ It’s closer to 1:30 than 2 AM. She’s aware of curfew but she’s three Long Island Ice Teas in and her ears are still pounding from techno music.

Wick walks over to them laughing so loud that he gains the attention of most of the room. “You were serious about the galaxy print!” He throws his head back and shakes with his roar. “And Jasper, my man, what a lucky son of a bitch to be their pimp-daddy tonight. Now, as Raven’s boyfriend I do deserve a small cut of their tips.” He wraps an arm around Raven’s shoulders, “I love your crazy ass, you know that?”

“I know.” Raven is giggling along with their little group when Monty comes up and slaps Clarke hard on her ass.

“Point four for Monty.” He comments when he comes into view, “A little angry I wasn’t invited to the event…a little glad that I didn’t have to deal with whatever the hell you guys were doing.”

Clarke and Raven exchange a look and decide not to answer any more questions about the nature of their night. It doesn’t take long for Bellamy to join their little group. He extends a hand in the direction of Wick and then _really_ looks at Clarke. His eyes scan up and down her body and he looks about ready to pounce. She smirks at him and returns with a grin. It’s almost normal until a guy she’s never met joins the group. There’s a pause where Bellamy’s just looking at her exposed skin and she’s waiting for him to introduce his friend. “Excuse his bad manners, he’s too busy eye fucking you to do anything polite.” His friend says after an increased silence, “Nathan Miller, this asshole’s best friend despite the other offers I’ve gotten.”

“You should have taken them.” Clarke smiles at Nathan, “He’s a piece of work.”

“Hey…we’re not going to have a public roast of all my short-comings.”

“You said it.” Nathan snorts and Clarke has to cover her mouth from making an ass out of herself like Wick previously did. Instantly, she likes Nathan Miller for his wicked sense of humor.

“Oh, you’ll fit in nicely with my group of misfits.” She says before she feels Ayden’s presence. She turns around and waves at her brother from across the room. Of course he saw what she left the house wearing so he isn’t surprised with her attire. That doesn’t mean he’s not amused that she’s still wearing it. “That’s my twin brother.” She tells Nathan with a sense of pride in her voice.

When Ayden finally joins them, Clarke loops her arm in his. “This is Nathan Miller. He’s claiming to be Bellamy’s best friend but I’m a little worried he hired him.”

Bellamy scoffs, “You’re quite rude for a Princess.”

“Years of practice.”

“I think you need to brush up on your manners.” Bellamy says lowly—so quietly, she almost thinks she’s the only person that can hear him.

“Are you offering?” Clarke mouths back and he shrugs. “Does anyone know why we’re here when I’m supposed to be dancing on tables for tips?” Wick starts laughing again like a villain in a movie.

“It’s not funny.” Jasper says over Wick’s choking, “This meeting is costing my girls a pretty hefty cash flow and when the girls aren’t happy, pimp-daddy isn’t happy.”

Monty finally speaks up, “Pimp-daddymy ass.”

“And your name is?” Nathan extends his hand in the direction of Monty.

“Monty but Clarke likes to shorten my name based off of alcohol consumption. I go by Mont, Mon-Mon, Mo, and M.” Nathan thinks this is beyond funny because soon he and Wick are competing in the contest of ‘who-can-make-everyone-look-at-us-first?’. Good thing Clarke thrives off of attention when she’s buzzed. “How drunk are you right now, Clarkie?”

“Oh baby Mon-Mon, I’m not that drunk.” She pinches his cheeks for effect before Kane clears his throat to silence the either party-ready or beyond tired group. Clarke turns and barely notices that Bellamy’s standing behind her until he wraps an arm around her waist. “Does it turn you on when I’m disrespectful?” Clarke asks under her breath as he presses her body against his. “Because I can be disrespectful all night if you want…”

“I just like it when you don’t take someone’s shit…even if it’s my own.” Bellamy kisses the back of her head and smooths his hand across her hips. “Are you taking the party back to your apartment or…?”

Clarke doesn’t get the opportunity to answer because Kane starts in on the reason he called the meeting in the first place. “The wolves are getting closer. There was another causality tonight, not one of ours. It’s time to bring the fight to these animals. We will select individuals to accompany a group into their small haven by noon today. I ask each individual to go home and prepare for the possibility of relocation.” He looks down at his feet before he continues, “Be safe.”

It’s one of the shortest speeches she’s ever heard him conduct as well as the most sobering speech.

 _I need to talk to Frey,_ Clarke thinks but she knows it’s an impossibility. Frey would only come around if she was in direct danger or if he had specific orders. Despite not trusting anyone, she trusts his motives. There’s something about him that makes her heart accept his words. It’s not love and it’s barely lust. It’s more familiar as if she belongs to the same cause as him.

It’s so odd to be connected to a stranger she hardly knows.

She wonders if Bellamy would understand it if she explained the way she feels like she’s about to jump out of her skin when Frey touches her—not sexually, but as if she’s inching towards some metamorphosis only he can trigger. She doubts she could explain it without making it sound like more than it is.

People are moving around her, preparing for the absolute worst and whispering about the group for-sure dying in their attempts. Clarke has to agree with their morbid whispers. The first group would not meet a fate desired by many. The possibility of death is high…she just hopes none of her friends are involved in the war. They aren’t fighters, they barely have training. It would be entirely unwise for them to assist in this time of war. Still, she can’t help but listen to the warning in the pit of her stomach.

Something big is about to happen.

Raven exhales, “Well, that’s a buzzkill if I’ve ever felt one.”

“Agreed.” Jasper says from beside Wick. “I say we go back to the Kane Twin apartment and drink until this makes sense.”

“Here, here.” Wick claps him on the back, “And we can show our new friend how we _really_ get down on the weekend.”

Nathan furrows his brows, “I feel like you guys might be fucking crazy…I’m in.” Wick cheers along with Jasper. Monty just walks beside Miller as they head towards their cars. Clarke’s already thinking about setting them up.

Bellamy sighs in her ear, “I’ve introduced a gremlin to water.”

“It looks like Raven, Jasper and Nathan are riding with Wick and Monty…and Ayden drove here by himself so I have a few seats open in my car.” Clarke smiles, “Though, you should probably drive.”

“I think you’ve driven buzzed before.”

“Oh, I have.” Clarke winks at him as she starts walking backwards, “I just have a plan, that’s all…” Bellamy swallows hard as she reaches for him to take her hand. He complies, letting her take him through the doors towards the parking lot. “I didn’t see Octavia or your mother tonight.”

“They went to collect their belongings.” Bellamy tells her, “I’ve been showing Miller around for the last few days…I would have stopped by but I honestly believed we needed some time to breathe.”

“My head feels clearer. You may have made the right call.” Clarke continues to pull him towards the parking lot with child-like giggles escaping her mouth. “You like my outfit, I see…”

“Honey, I think the entire male population likes your outfit, including Miller and he’s gay.” He coughs to clear his throat, “I’m just trying to figure out where your car keys are.” He pushes her against the exit door and runs his hands down her back. He tickles her skin which causes her to push at his chest with her head thrown back. “Princess, please let me finish frisking you.”

Clarke’s laughter is reaching a Kyle-Wick designated level as he squeezes her ass. “You won’t find them because they’re still in the ignition.”

“Mmm, that’s not very responsible.”

“I’m a dare-devil.” Clarke shrugs before opening the door. He catches her before she trips over the edge of the sidewalk and kisses at her neck. Clarke hears Wick honking his horn like an asshole yelling something about getting a room. She flicks him off as Bellamy lifts her feet off the ground and carries her to her Porsche. “How good is your driving?” She asks as she pets the shiny black paint of her car. “Because this car is my baby and I really don’t need you wrecking her.”

“I’m an excellent driver as long as you can keep your hands to yourself.”

“Mmm, no promises.” She climbs into the passenger side of the car realizing all too soon how she’s trusting him to drive her prized possession. Bellamy has to adjust the seat before he settles in. The car starts with a purr and she’s pretty sure her girl is showing off for her fiancé. Traitor. She lets him get out of the parking lot before she inches over to him, her mouth finding his pulse point without the assistance of light. He relaxes in the seat, one hand on the wheel. “Don’t wreck.” Clarke reminds him as her hand runs up his thigh, barely touching his hardening length.

“Clarke.” He warns shakily, “Careful what you get started in this car. I’m sure your friends are expecting us to socialize with them this time.”

“That’s what breakfast is for. I bet Wick is still tripping over Raven’s galaxy get-up…and I bet he’s going to be using my guest bedroom within the hour. We’re fine.” Clarke nips at his skin.

“When did you last feed?”

“When was the last time we had sex?” She knows, of course. She just didn’t know how to answer him. “It’s fine, I’ll be careful with you I promise.” He seems to believe her because the next thing she knows, he’s got his hand on the back of her head and he’s pulling her in for a short kiss. “Bellamy…I know we have a time limit and everything but I don’t—not tonight at least.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about following their orders tonight.” He tells her, “This is only about you and me. Fun, right?”

“Right.” She agrees, palming at his pants until she finds his zipper. He pants her name before he quietly, but hotly, tells her to _take it easy._ “I don’t want to take it easy…I just want you.”

He groans, “You’re impossible.”

Clarke jumps in his lap, which causes him to swerve the car. “And you’re lucky.” She comments before she latches onto his neck with her warm mouth. She sucks until she’s satisfied that he’ll have a temporary mark on his skin. Her teeth rarely touch his pounding skin, which is a feat in itself when she thinks about how thirsty she is. Her tongue trails across the mark over and over again.

“I agree, Princess…I’m very lucky.”


	17. Feeding Hour

_Walking; she’s walking down a cobble street in New Orleans alone. She’s been on the street before during her vacation last summer but she can’t…she can’t remember anything about it except it’s familiar. There are soft howls in the distance, howls that she’s not afraid of for the first time in her life. They are hectic like the wind blowing her blonde tendrils in wicked directions. Clarke stops at the end of the street, her hand sweeping across the wall until a door opens. Even the subconscious part of her knows that this is beyond weird. Her hand turns the knob and bright light blinds her and she’s suddenly cold, too cold—_

“SON OF A BITCH, JUST BURN DOWN THE WHOLE FUCKING APARTMENT WHY DON’T YOU?”

Her body jolts forward, broken pants escaping her as she clings to her bare shoulders. Clarke’s fingernails leave crescent moons into her delicate skin as she shakes. The adrenaline rush leads to the inevitable tooth ache that comes with a lack of consumption. Her bare knees rise to her chest as she tries to control herself—silence herself before she wakes up Bellamy. Her best efforts aren’t enough due to Raven’s screaming and the smoke detectors simultaneously going off at the same time. Clarke almost cries because her heart is slamming against her ribs, painfully. He seems to catch her small intake of breath when he finally comes to reality because he’s leaning up to look at her, then he’s moving to level his stare with hers.

She’s never been this dehydrated before in her life.

And part of her wonders if this has anything to do with the amount of sex she’s been having lately. She has never had to drink much to survive and she’s never reached a point where her body is crashing. Bellamy cups her cheek with his warm palm, “I told you to feed earlier.”

Clarke shakes her head, “Too dangerous, Bellamy. I could—“ There’s a pain in her center that causes her to hunch over. “I could take too much. We have emergency blood bags in the kitchen…just, could you get one?” Her hands fly to her mouth as her teeth threaten to force themselves through her gums without her usual coaxing. It’s an unpleasant feeling to say the least. Bellamy lifts Clarke from her position and places her on his lap, pushing at her back until her round breasts are pressed against his dusky disks. He guides her head to his neck with one hand as he traces her spine with the other. Clarke purses her lips and tries to fight him.

“Shh, I trust you…I trust you.” He tells her as her fangs fully extend, poking his sensitive skin. “I heal quickly, remember?”

Vampires can’t die from being drained due to their rapid healing but it can cause them to fall into a coma for hours as they recuperate. It’s not a grand process and it’s also not easy once they wake up. Most of the time, they’re too weak to compel humans for days and their reaction time lessens. It’s like being on the bad side of drunk for half a week.

Raven’s still yelling in the background as she comfortably positions herself on his lap, one of her arms wrapping around his back while her other hand tangles in his awful bedhead. She’s slower with him than usual, easing him into a state of comfort while trying to stimulate other emotions instead of the raw need to feed within her.

She refuses to just dive in even if it’s killing her.

Clarke scratches at his scalp until he lets out a sound between a whimper and a groan. The wrecked masculinity behind it makes her skin prickle. Her teeth graze his skin but they never break the flesh as she moves her hips against his, “Hey, I don’t have…we can’t.” Bellamy tells her in a rough pant. She can feel the way his dick stirs between her thighs, growing harder by the second. The tension is growing within him, his muscles are constricting and tightening as he fights his urge to thrust.

She removes her hand from his back and reaches for his length. He twitches due to an unimaginable sensitivity. “If you’re going to take care of me, I’m going to take care of you.” She doesn’t give him a chance to argue with her. Her teeth sink into his neck and she moans with the taste of his blood. The endorphins of sex spilling onto her tongue and running down her dry throat. Her thumb gathers precome at his tip before she starts to pump him for all he’s worth.

His heart speeds up which means more blood is flooding her mouth by the second.

She fears that she’s going to take too much but Bellamy groans his approval as she picks up her pace. He’s starting to fall against the pillows but she doesn’t know if that’s because he’s fading or because he’s over-stimulated.

Pain and pleasure are wicked that way.

Clarke sways when she detaches from his throat due to the high she’s riding. Her thumb rubs along his shaft, feeling every vein as more blood pumps to his groin. “You aren’t being very fair, Princess…” Bellamy remarks hazily, his eyes glassed over. “You get to touch me but I can’t touch you…”

“Who said you couldn’t touch me?” Clarke pushes his body fully against the stack of ruffled up pillows before she moves down his body. She leaves a trail of kisses down his chest towards his cock. “I like to be touched…you know that more than anyone.”

“I can’t feel you the way I want to feel you.”

“I guess that’s what happens when you forget your girlfriend likes to go multiple rounds.”

“Girlfriend, huh?”

Clarke blushes, “I thought we agreed to something more exclusive.”

“But you don’t trust me.”

“Not without proof that I can trust you.” Clarke confirms, “That doesn’t mean I can’t grow to trust you. That doesn’t mean you can’t earn it.”

Bellamy sighs, “I like having titles” as she goes down on him.

Never once does she think about the empty New Orleans street—at least, not while he’s there to chase away the nightmare.


	18. Brunch

Bellamy wakes startled by the sound of her bedroom door squeaking shut and a light apology slipping from her very pink, extremely kissable lips. Her blonde hair falls down her shoulders in tangles that conceal her perfectly porcelain shoulders. She’s wearing his white undershirt and a pair of worn pink pajama pants. He gives her a soft sleepy half-smile as he props himself up on the haphazard stack of standard pillows. “’morning my Princess…” His gravelly voice makes her face heat expectantly. “When did you get up?”

“A few minutes ago…I had to make sure my kitchen wasn’t ashy and black. Apparently Jasper and Monty tried to revolutionize the art of bowl making early this morning…good thing Raven stopped them.” She lets out a small sigh of relief, her face breaking into a grin so beautiful that it makes his heart speed up. “Ayden is about to start cooking brunch.” The bed makes a sound as she digs her knees into the mattress. With a calculative gleam in her eyes, she throws one of her legs of his waist and settles on top of his stomach.

He places one of his large hands over the shirt he’s probably never going to get back to rub small oval-like circles into her skin. Clarke gifts him with a breathy sigh as she wiggles her hips against his taut skin. Her mouth finds his neck, her tongue seductively tracing the fading scar on his skin.

“You need to feed.” She tells him, her tongue leaving long stripe of saliva over the bite mark that causes him to shiver with her words. She replaces the warmth of her mouth with her capable fingers, tracing the healing wound with a gentleness that causes his vision to become unfocused. “This mark shouldn’t be here…” He hums in agreement. She’s right, it should have healed by now but that doesn’t mean he has to feed in this moment. “C’mon, Bellamy…” Clarke gives his neck a hard suck to spur him into dominating the situation but he only intertwines his fingers into her messy hair. He lifts her face away from her skin, finding that her pupils are blown wide with anticipation.

“Aren’t you something…” He muses leaning forward until she’s on her back and he’s comfortably settled between her legs. The roughness of his mouth against her cheeks causes a ticklish laugh to erupt from her chest. He chuckles as he continues to kiss her forehead, her nose, her eyelids, the corners of her mouth until he plants his lips directly on hers.

Her giggling ceases as a soft moan forms in the back of her throat. Clarke wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer to her, parting her lips in the process. Bellamy slants his mouth against hers before his tongue deeply penetrates her mouth. She recognizes the rhythm, the way he moves against her like an ancient pattern she cannot forget. It’s how he makes love to her, how he gives her what she wants. Unfortunately, they’re in a predicament where he can’t give her _everything_ she wants. Well, without obvious risks involved.

He tugs at her hair as he presses his elbows into the bed. Clarke spreads her legs a little wider, one of her legs wrapping around his hip. It makes her breath stutter. “Mmm, Princess…you know better than to tease.”

“Do I?”

He growls and meets her mouth again, hands gripping her thighs so hard he might leave bruises. She welcomes them. The most complicated thing is his hard length against her stomach, the way she wants him inside of her. She wraps her little hand around him when his hips jerk against her flushed skin. “Fuck, yes you do.”

“I don’t think so.” She purrs, looking up at him with a mocking innocence he loves to see. Her bottom lip pokes out and he wants nothing more than to nip at it until she’s yanking at his hair. Clarke starts to move her hand, her grip tight around him. “I think you like it when I tease you.” She throws her head back against the mattress, her tangles falling down the edge of the bed when he tightens his grip on her legs. She has to let go of his hard cock due to a sense of impossible arousal. “You definitely like it when I tease you.”

“I like it when you behave, too.”

“No you don’t.” She corrects him with a smug grin, “You told me last night that you like it when I disobey…that it turns you on…because you _like_ reprimanding me for my bad behavior.”

“Oh yeah? Looks like you’ve got me all figured out.”

Clarke shakes her head, “Nope…I think you’re taking it easy on me. I think you’re holding back. I _think_ you’re into a lot more than biting in the bedroom. What’s your poison, hmm?” She moves her hand down his back. His lips part as a hard gasp escapes him. He didn’t expect their morning to progress in this direction.

He never expected Clarke to be fully dressed underneath his naked body asking about his sexual desires, either. He also didn’t expect her to be a willing participant. Her hard exterior and her demanding nature seems to flutter away underneath his weight. Clarke actively changes once they approach the subject of sex.

There’s a knock on her door, “Okay, lovebirds get dressed and come eat.” Ayden’s muffled voice makes Clarke brighten. Bellamy can tell that she loves her brother. She loves his wit and his comments and everything about their relationship. He can see that it’s killing her to move out of their safe haven, even if she likes Bellamy—even if she wants to be with him.

“We’ll continue this conversation later…” She wiggles from underneath him. “Need a minute?”

“More like a cold shower.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll meet you out there, save some food for me.”

Clarke snorts, “I’ll try…don’t forget that we have guests.”

-x-

It only takes him a few minutes to gather himself before he’s sitting next to Clarke. She’s got a firm hand on his thigh as he shovels in piece after piece of bacon. He was amused by the plate she made him and how it had way too much food on it. Jasper has been looking longingly at his stack of pancakes and plentiful amounts of sausage, bacon and eggs for the last ten minutes. It’s clear he started smoking long before Ayden brought out his stash.  

Clarke and Bellamy sit on the bench, her legs tossed over his lap as she pops pieces of pancake into her mouth with a content curve of her lips. Bellamy rubs his palm over the tops of her legs, slowly tracing the forming bruises on her legs. They will heal just as quickly but he makes sure to apply as little pressure as he can. He looks sideways at her as she curls her toes into his pants when he accidentally brushes one of the purple marks. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She winks at him before she pulls him in for a kiss. Bellamy puts down his fork to take her cheek in his hand as he kisses her tenderly.

“Some of us are eating here.” Ayden grumbles with a mouthful of food. “We don’t need any of that sickening shit spoiling this converging of good weed and good food.”

“I think it’s cute.” Raven counters as she throws a burnt piece of pancake at Ayden’s head. Her brother dodges it with a chuckle giving Raven the bird in the process. Jasper shakes his head while Monty and Miller continue their conversation as if there aren’t any people surrounding them. Bellamy just shakes his head when he finally breaks away from Clarke. She chases his lips but Bellamy gives her a partly-stern, partly-aroused look.

Clarke goes back to nibbling at the small amount of food on her plate. “You need to eat…gain your strength.” He whispers as he nips the skin of her shoulder. “Because you’re going to need it for—“

“The meeting?” Jasper interrupts his dirty talk with a stupid smile on his face. “It’s in an hour or so…”

Bellamy shoots him a look that causes the nerd to snap his jaw shut. Clarke giggles as she tosses a piece of pancake up in the air, hoping to catch it with her open mouth. Bellamy captures her mouth instead, letting it hit the ground without a genuine care. “I thought you wanted me to eat.” She pouts, “I could have caught that.”

“Mhm, yeah.” He rolls his eyes which earns him a firm slap to the shoulder. “The meeting announces those in the first group…”

Everyone stops talking including Monty and Miller.

Clarke rubs her foot against his thigh as she responds, “Yeah…statistically, we’ll never see those people again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a few days--I'm really trying to get back into a few of my other stories that I've been really slacking on especially my Fanfiction story "Ripple Effect"


	19. The Night Without The Day

Clarke stands in the middle of her walk-in closet with a red paddle brush in one hand and the twisted fabric of her towel in the other. There are two sides to her hectic mess—the side of clean, appropriate clothes that she hasn’t worn since she turned sixteen and the side of nightlife clothing that she adores. Unfortunately, in between these two sides are mountains of dirty laundry and outfits she didn’t care for at the time.

“Fuck,” She mutters under her breath as she approaches the drawers containing her _wonderful_ collection of lingerie. She doesn’t have clue how she’s going to dress for this meeting mostly because she doesn’t know how she feels about the meeting. She opens her drawer, sifting through the lace and bows and silk because dressing sexily always makes her feel better. Still, she doesn’t know how the fuck to choose between high-waist shorts and knee-length skirts. And she doesn’t know how to explain that it has nothing to do with her outfits, but her fear that she’s about to lose something important. “Fuck!”

She doesn’t hear him approach her but she feels his rough mouth scraping over her bare shoulder. Immediately, she relaxes against him because she knows he’ll support her weight. “What has the Princess so upset?”

“I can’t find anything to wear.” Clarke lies as his hands pet down her sides, pulling up the towel until she drops it to the floor. With a stuttering breath, she takes a stumbling step forward, tossing the brush on the dresser as he traces her naked skin with his palms.

He nibbles at her neck, “Don’t wear anything.”

“But then you’d have to pretend you’ve never seen me naked before and let’s face it, your acting skills are amateur at best… especially when it comes to this body.”

“Do you like that, baby?”

Clarke nods frantically, “Yeah, keep doing that please.”

“Please? Hmm, looks like you _do_ have manners.” Her alarm starts to go off on her phone and Bellamy groans, disappointed with how much time has passed since brunch. “I’m sorry, Princess…didn’t mean to get your worked up for nothing.”

“Not for nothing…now you definitely owe me.”

-x-

_I can’t remember the last time I called him ‘daddy’…the last time he was actually a father to me and not an egomaniac with all the power he could ever desire. I can remember when I thought life was as simple as a fairy-tale, when I thought I was truly a Princess meant to do something other than lay on my back and produce children. The world was black and white. There was an evil that would never touch my home and a good surrounding my people. The one thing I was absolutely certain of was the undeniable truth that my parents loved each other and they loved Ayden and me. But I’ve grown up—I’m still a minor, sure, but I’m old enough to get married. I might be merciless. I might be cold. I might be unforgiving. But I was surely designed to be all these things—more importantly, though, I was designed to be a soldier and to follow orders._

_Simply put, I am the pawn to the Queen and King even if I’m supposed to be their daughter._

Clarke tosses the small journal into the glovebox with a heavy sigh. It’s a rarity that she puts her thoughts to words. She often goes to her studio to get the pain, the stress off of her mind. Lately, though, she hasn’t found the time to go anywhere near her favorite safe haven. The journal was designed to preserve her thoughts until she could put them to canvas. People say that putting your disappointment in words provides some type of closure but she doesn’t buy into the myth. The betrayal still sits heavily on her chest.

Her eyes dart around the analog clock on her dashboard, deciding it’s about time to get out of her car. Somehow she managed to drive alone despite the slew of house guest they gathered last night. Bellamy left shortly after the alarm went off because he needed to change clothes. It would leave too many questions open to the council if they left the meeting together last night and arrived together with him wearing the same clothes. The last thing she needs is partly true rumors circulating the hall during a point of crisis.

Fortunately for her, there are plenty of people already inside the Council Hall by the time she walks in wearing a pair of dark ankle boots, tight dark skinny jeans and a thin strapped crop top with a sheer lace back. She figured the dark colors fit the occasion. What else was one to wear to a sacrifice? With her dark clothes, she blends into the crowd until she finds her punctual brother. The council has organized folding chair into sixteen rows. Bellamy is already sitting with his family in his designated area. Clarke doesn’t attempt to make eye contact considering the fact that she’s trying to keep her head on straight.

Ayden saved her a seat.

God, he looks calm compared to how nervous she is.

Part of her knows that this doesn’t end well—the part of her that is awakened every time Frey comes around. Still, she possesses a fraction of hope that she doesn’t lose someone dear to her during this meeting. But one look in her mother’s direction dashes any and all hope that it’s going to work out in her favor for once.

Kane slams his hand against the podium to quiet down the conversations she barely heard. With a quick glance, she spots Monty and Jasper anxiously rocking in the chairs. Wick and Raven are grasping each other’s hands. Clarke even looks at Church despite the state of their relationship. He meets her eyes and they exchange a brief nod. It’s not like she wants him to die… she just doesn’t care for his attitude these days. “I’m going to keep this meeting short. We know what we’re fighting, we know why we’re fighting. There’s no need for a long list of reasoning when we have a list of dead. The following people are being called forward as scouts and if cases present themselves, as warriors. Connor, Jenkins, Sterling, Shumway and Dax.” Clarke makes eye contact with Kane as his tongue circles around his mouth. He releases a breath after people have reacted to their loved ones being called forward. She thinks she heard Dax’s mother cuss Kane out but the only thing she’s positive of is the blood rush in her ears. “The mission leader as well as my eyes and ears on the ground will be my son, Ayden Kane.”

Clarke isn’t aware of her body’s reaction. There are some people who would say she’s stuck, that she can’t move but she feels like she’s trapped in amber. She’s paralyzed by a lachrymose sadness as she says one word, “No.” It’s breathy and full of grief she’s never felt in her entire life. She looks over at her brother who has closed his eyes tightly—she notes that he’s not shocked. “You knew?” Clarke asks brokenly.

“Clarke…” He starts but she’s not ready to hear why he didn’t share one of the most important things in his life with her. The incredulousness in her eyes speaks volumes. “It’s not that simple.”

She finds herself meeting her mother’s eyes again. “Why is she just sitting there?” Her voice is weak as she disregards her brother’s words. He’s not old enough to make his own decision about going to _war_ just like she’s not old enough to get married and have a baby. Her parents are using them as martyrs for a cause they don’t believe in—at least she doesn’t believe in it.

“Clarke…” Ayden says her name louder this time. “Mom—“

“No!” She draws the attention of their friends and the few people in front of them. “Why is she just sitting there doing nothing?” Her eyes prickle with tears she’s been fighting back since they told her she was engaged.

_I can’t take this anymore._

Ayden locks and unlocks his jaw before he looks down at his feet, “She can’t show favoritism…this was my choice. He offered me a chance to prove myself as a leader. What was I supposed to do?”

“ _Live._ ” Clarke bats away his hand when he offers it to her. “You’re supposed to _live_ and you’re supposed to be the free one.”

“How is that fair?” He counters in a hushed whisper, “Why are you the only person allowed to lay down their life for our people?”

She stands up quickly, her chair sliding across the ground with an ear piercing sound. “But I’m not signing my death certificate by serving my people. You are.”

“Clarke!” Kane warns, seeming to be at his wits end with her interruptions and actions lately. Clarke turns around quickly to face him with a fire in her eyes. She feels lightheaded again. She feels like she’s about to do something completely reckless.

And when she does, she’s not surprised.

“Fuck you.” Clarke says sternly before she rushes out of the door. Her ankle boots click against the floor like heels as she quickly exits the building. Her car keys are in her hand but she can’t remember pulling them out of her pocket. Her hands are shaking, quivering underneath half a year’s worth of anxiety, stress and sadness.

The only logical decisions she’s makes within the three minutes it takes her to get out of the parking lot and down the street was leaving her car behind and using her enhanced speed. The longer she lingers on the betrayal of her family—the sacrifices her parents are willing to make—the faster she runs. She moves past people, slips past corners until she can’t see anymore.

Until the unshed tears take over everything.

She comes to a skid against cracked, rough asphalt on her pretty knees in the middle of some type of backroad. Clarke has no idea where she is, let alone how far away she’s made in from Chicago. She knows her knees are skinned and ugly, she knows they’re bleeding and bruised but she doesn’t really care about them. Her breaths are hard pants, then she’s not panting anymore.

She’s screaming as stinging tears cut down her cheeks.

Clarke’s begging herself to keep it together but it’s an impossibility. She can’t keep it together anymore. Her body falls forward until she’s support herself on her hands. The rocky surface of the road digs into her palms…still, she can’t find it in herself to move.

It doesn’t take her long to start choking on her copious amounts of tears.

Even the smell of cigarettes doesn’t bring her from her breakdown.

Nor do the soft footsteps.

“Orders…they’re complicated and your brother—“

It’s the final straw.

Clarke rises quickly and throws one of the first punches she’s landed in a long time. Frey’s jaw cracks with contact. She can’t find it in herself to feel sorry as he spits blood onto the ground. “I’m so fucking sick of orders and secrets…and I’m sick of half-baked clues and hidden agendas! So if you’re not going to tell me who you’re working for and who you _really a_ re then disappear again!”

“It’s not that simple.”

“That’s just something people say when they can’t find the words to break someone’s heart.”

“I’m sorry.”

And just like every other time before, he’s gone.

And just like every other time before, she doesn’t have a single answer. Just a name and an empty promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think? 
> 
> I'm really excited about this story although this is a weak character introduction in the beginning. Sorry about that.  
> -Brooke.


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